


Stay With Me

by 0KKULTiC



Series: Stories From Newvoice Bakery [3]
Category: VICTON (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Bakery, Bakery and Coffee Shop, Comfort, Fluff, In which a sweet baker can't ignore his conscious and takes care of a cranky sick city boy, Just a pinch of angst, M/M, Sickfic, Slice of Life, Small Towns, Some side-pairing pining, Takes place after the events of I'm Fine, Very 2seung centric with some Chanse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-09-18 02:11:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16986168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0KKULTiC/pseuds/0KKULTiC
Summary: Clouds roll over town, and it seems like the entire world's mood dampens with it. Seungwoo feels a nasty cold coming on, and Seungsik finds himself spacing out more than ever. The baker always feels like gray clouds and drizzle cast a weird spell on the town. Things get even weirder when he gets a call for a late evening delivery. Apparently, one of the Healing Center's staff is sick and "could use some cheering up"...





	1. Chapter 1

Waking up is hard.

 

It’s a general statement, but on that morning it rings especially true for Han Seungwoo. His alarm blares all the same - one of his favorite hip-hop songs. The grating sound of bumping bass drills into his ears like construction machinery. His entire face scrunches, and he paws in the general direction of his phone.

 

“Thud!”

 

 _Great_ . He thinks. Sluggishly, he slings his legs over the edge of the bed. The vague ghost of an ache whispers across his limbs. _Did I sleep weird?_ He shrugs away the idle thought, swiping his foot across the floor to find his phone. Upon retrieving it, he finally silences the damn thing and stands up to get started with his day.

 

“Whoa,” Seungwoo mutters as his body wavers. Suddenly, a rush surges to his head. Everything is blurry, and his vision swims. He finds himself wobbly, but his knees are jelly and he can’t quite fortify them. Clumsily, he reaches out for the nearest thing he can support himself on: his bedside table.

 

“Clunk!” “Thud.” “Thud.” “Shiff-” The sound of things moving around and falling to the wayside sound muffled in his ears - a sharp contrast compared to his alarm just moments early. Taking a deep breath, Seungwoo stays there, letting the surreal sensation of unease wash over him. Gradually, his vision rights itself, and the buzz in his ears dims down. He takes a deep breath and stands up, completely fine.

  
“Got up too fast,” He mutters to himself. The only trace of his little woozy episode is a faint pulsing at his temples. That’ll be annoying. Not eager to dawdle any longer, Seungwoo continues with his morning routine.

 

Step one: work out. He varies his morning exercises - they’re always light to save energy for the afternoon’s more intense work outs. Today’s some quick yoga sequences and a bit of ab work. He finds himself winded doing so, and he concludes that he _definitely_ didn’t sleep well.

 

Step two: shower. In and out, hair, body, rinse - then comes skincare. He’s pretty expedient, and his skincare routine is basically muscle memory at this point. Even though it takes more time, Seungwoo prefers to blow dry his hair; he feels like a savage when he doesn’t. The loud blowing of the hair dryer causes the pressure in his temples to swell, much to his annoyance.

 

Step three: breakfast. That’s usually a protein shake. Occasionally, he fixes himself boiled eggs, but he hasn’t been feeling that industrious. His workout had run sort of long, and he wants to get going.

 

 _Keys? Bookbag? Phone? Headphones?_ Seungwoo checks everything, patting down his pockets before yanking his bookbag up by a strap. He throws it over one shoulder before heading out the door.

  
Step four: walk to work. The quickest way to work is to cut across the square diagonally, then head up the hill. He’d gotten used to taking a slight detour, but given recent life events he can’t bear to relive, he just cuts through the square. He’s not sure what, but something had scratched his throat, and the tickling sensation adds another level of annoyance to his morning.

 

Even though he’s in the middle of the square, Seungwoo can see the opposite strip in the distance. He makes out the signs of the little shops one by one. “Umami” - a little fancy Japanese bistro, “Oat Market” - a local grocer, “Little Key” - the antiques shop, and, of course, there’s the bakery: Newvoice Bakery. Just seeing the sign makes Seungwoo’s heart drop. A queue stretches down the walk from the window, and thankfully the man whose face appears in it doesn’t seem to be Seungsik. Still, it causes a weird knot to form in Seungwoo’s gut, and he immediately reaches to his phone for some distraction.

 

Tapping idly across a few apps, he purses his lips until happening across his contacts. Eyebrow quirked, he decides to call someone he hadn’t spoken to in awhile. Maybe they could help alleviate some of the morning tedium and distract him from his headache.

 

“Brrzz… Brrzz… Brrzz… Brrz- Click.”

 

“Hello?” A woman’s voice, slightly groggy, answers on the other side of the line. “Seungwoo?!” She sounds shocked he’s alive.

 

“Hey, sis,” He greets his sister, Sunhwa. They haven’t talked for awhile. It’s nothing personal, it’s just an adulthood thing. The two of them are pretty busy, and they both have a bad habit of forgetting to text back. Consequently, they talk maybe once a month. Sometimes, he feels guilty about it, but it’s a two way street. She’s just as bad as he is, and after a while he started to suspect that it’s in their genetic code to be unintentionally distant. Whoops.

 

“You’re alive!?”

 

 _There it is,_ Seungwoo thinks, “No. I’m calling you from the afterlife, actually. I wanted you to know that I willed my entire estate to the neighborhood squirrels.”

 

Sunhwa’s laugh sounds muffled from the sketchy cell reception, “That’s assuming your will is found by your executor of estate. Would be a shame if someone found it first and altered it.”

 

“You wouldn’t dare tarnish the wishes of a dead man!” Seungwoo quips back.

 

“A dead man? Never. My brother? Always!”

 

Seungwoo chuckles; he realizes that it’d been awhile since he’d done that with genuity, “Wow! I am definitely writing you out of my will. And to think, I almost gave you my elementary school macaroni picture…”

 

“The one from pre-school? That looks impressively like a lemon having an aneurysm?”

 

“Well you can forget about wounded lemons, now. I’m leaving you nothing. Nothing!” Seungwoo laughs.

 

 _Has this hill always been this steep?_ He wonders as he ascends from the square into the side street leading to the Healing Center. It’s not like him to be winded, he does cardio at least three times a week. More lately. Yet, for some reason, on that particular morning he finds himself huffing and puffing. He hopes Sunhwa can’t hear. Thankfully, if she does, she doesn’t comment on it.

 

“That’s cold, brother. Ice cold,” Sunhwa pouts with a giggle. “Wait- why’d you call me anyways? Is something the matter?”

 

 _Crap_ , Seungwoo thinks. _And so it begins, the interrogation._ He loves his sister dearly, but like any older sibling, Sunhwa often expresses concern about his life. Too much concern. So much concern that it’s borderline meddling. Well, not borderline. It's just nosy meddling. He supposes he ought to have anticipated this turn of events, but his exceptionally sleep addled mind had foolishly hoped she’d not pry into the details of his life.

 

“No,” Seungwoo starts, “Nothing is the-“

 

“How are you adjusting to the new place? Oh, what’s it called… Sunnyside?”

 

“Sunrise. Sunrise Healing Center. And it’s-“

 

“That sounds kind of ominous, you know. Sunrise? Sounds too good to be true. The kind of name you’d give to a place if you wanted to convince people that it’s not shady - you know?”

 

“I promise it’s all it’s chalked up to be. Even more, maybe… I’ve never seen such a nice facility, actually-“

 

“What are your coworkers like?”

 

Oh boy. “Well, they’re all nice. I mostly work with a couple of seniors. Jung Eunji and-“

 

“Eunji? A woman? Are there any men there?”

 

“Wh- Why does that matter?!” This is getting out of hand already. Oh no.

 

“Because you’re going to die alone, I think!”

 

“Wh-“ Seungwoo pauses briefly, holding the phone away from his face so he can cough. He swears part of his soul departs with the violent cough that wracks his rib cage. Luckily, the PT student doesn’t need much of a soul. He reserves his humanity for patients, friends, and coworkers. Sometimes family - if they're not being obnoxious. Aside from that, he doesn’t find much use for it. As long as he’s polite, he doesn’t see a need to really embellish with over the top, fake friendliness or something.

 

“What happened to that cute boy- what was his name? Seungri?”

 

“Seungri? My professor?!” Seungwoo isn’t sure if the heat surging to his face comes from humiliation or feverish exhaustion. His head still persistently pulses despite the acetaminophen he’d taken earlier, which doesn’t help. “What are you talking about? He was a man - not a boy - first of all and- and-“

 

“You were totally crushing on him.”

 

“I was not-“ Seungwoo’s voice actually cracks there, plunging his heart even further toward the floor. He’s fairly certain it’ll start digging a hole at this rate. Then he’d be left heartless _and_ soulless. _Why are sisters such a pain in the ass?!_ “I- I told you had a little student-y crush on him in confidence. That- that wasn’t even a thing. It wasn’t even remotely a thing-“

 

“No, it wasn’t,” Sunhwa sounds disappointed, and if his head wasn’t already pounding, Seungwoo would want to bang it against the nearest hard surface. “Pity. He’d be good match. Scholarly, handsome…”

 

“How would you know what he looked like?”

 

“I looked him up, of course! All universities have profiles on their faculty. Did you know he-”

 

“Oh my god! Sunhwa!”  


“Oh my god! Seungwoo! What?!”

 

“What- What what? Why do you think I’d tell you about anyone I met if the second I drop a name you go all- all stalkery?” Seungwoo halts for a second, catching his breath again. _Maybe it’s hotter than usual_ , he thinks. The hill toward the center is really kicking his butt, and the sweat seeping out of his skin isn’t of the satisfying variety one feels from a sit in the sauna or the gym. It’s more like an icky, clammy sweat. Gross.

 

“You don’t have to drop a name,” Sunhwa sighs in defeat, “Fine, fine. At least tell me you’ve made a couple of friends.”

 

Seungwoo’s mind flashes back to his traumatic experience at the bar on the corner. He shudders just thinking of the blunt words that had spilled out of his mouth. So what if he thought they were true - he knew he was toeing a fine line, and he’d definitely crossed it. All he can remember is the way that guy looked at him. Seungsik. It’s a pretty name. Unique, too. Seungwoo doesn’t think he knows any other Seungsiks. Seungwoo’s mind redraws the image of the baker sitting there, chewing on his lower lip while he squints at a computer screen through round specs. The sleeves of his shirt had been pushed up to his forearms, revealing surprisingly well developed muscles.

 

“You _have_ made friends, right?” Sunhwa pulls Seungwoo out of la la land, and another cough ejects from his throat before he can properly prepare. The palpitating at his temples pressed against his brain, making his face scrunch up at the painful sensation. Determinedly, he continues foraging his path toward work. “Seungwoo- was that a cough?!”

 

“There’s lots of pollen and stuff here,” Seungwoo lies. He doesn’t know anything about the pollen count.

 

“Oh, well- back to the subject: you have made friends, right Seungwoo?”

 

“The- um, the girls at work are nice.”

 

“And you’re not turning your nose up at every person who says hello, are you?”

 

Seungwoo presses his lips together, fighting the annoyed sigh that so badly wants to leave his throat. Or maybe it’s another cough - he’s not sure.

 

“Why do you think that?” He counters her question with another.

 

“Because I know you,” Sunhwa replies frankly. “I know you don’t always play well with others, and I don’t want you far away without anyone to look out for you.”

 

“I’m fine. Really, this town is- it has nothing aside from this little square and the Healing Center. Definitely no crime or anything. Anyways, I play great with others. My senior complimented my manner with patients just the other day!”

 

“Patients are different, Seungwoo. You know that, and I know how you can be.”

 

“Oh, and how is that?”

 

“Hm… Aloof? Tactless? Awkward?”

 

“Wow, thanks sis. You’re really giving me a pep talk here.”

 

“You’re welcome,” She giggles. “Seriously, though. Are you doing okay?”

 

“I’m fine. Seriously.”

 

“Okay, okay… I just worry about you, alright.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m not twelve,” Seungwoo chuckles, dragging his feet slightly. His throat feels sore, probably from the coughs. Maybe he is having an allergic reaction to something.

 

“You’ll always be my little brother, idiot,” Sunhwa laughs, “Alright. I’m getting to the office. Talk to you later!”

 

“Bye!”

 

“Bye- Oh, and make some friends. Go out on a date or something-”

 

“Mhm- Yeah, bye-”

 

“I’m serious! Don’t just work all summer, you have few summers left-”

 

“Okay, I’m hanging up now-”

 

“I love you, bye!”

 

“Bye!” Seungwoo furiously taps the red button to hang up. He heaves a sigh of relief when the call screen finally fades away to his home screen.

 

 _Ugh. Sisters._ He groans internally as he reaches the home stretch of his walk. Whether it was the family conversation or his morning migraine, for some reason that morning’s walk felt like it took forever. _Why does everyone act like I’m unfriendly or something. I can be super friendly! And awkward? I am not awkward!_

  
The PT in training continues his mental reassurances until finally crossing the shining, electronic threshold of Sunrise’s sliding doors. They open with a soft “whish”, and a gust of air conditioning hits his searing skin. Though the sensation is usually refreshing, it gives Seungwoo goosebumps on that particular day. He frowns. Why does it feel colder than usual?

  
Wrapping his arms around himself, Seungwoo paces into the Healing Center lobby.

 

“Morning,” He croaks out to Eunji and Chorong who both stand behind the reception desk.

 

“Morning, Seungwoo!” Eunji greets him with one of her glowing smiles. Chorong echoes the greeting, giving him a friendly wave.

 

“Morning! I’ll see you guys in a few minutes,” He nods politely before disappearing behind the doors to the back hall. After an hour his pain medicine still hasn’t kicked in, and he realizes he’s in for a long day.

 

* * *

 

Seungsik purses his lips as he looks out the window. It was okay in the morning, but clouds are starting to roll in. _Is this gonna be another one of those gloomy, rainy summers?_ He pouts internally. It always feels like a crime that the nice weather of summer be wasted away by rain clouds. Of course, Seungsik doesn’t exactly spend a lot of time outside, so it’s almost a moot point. Almost.

 

Gray skies make Seungsik zone out. It’s just a thing. Beneath the sunlight, everything is so sharp and crisp - it’s easy to focus; but, when that sunlight is stifled, the world is cast in a soft gloominess of sorts. It draws the baker’s eyes and leads his thoughts astray. The lighted signs across the square blur into little blobs of color in the distance. He glances at the sidewalks. There’s a decent amount of people out and about, more than usual for the afternoon - probably since it’s cooled off a few degrees. A few prudent people even don umbrellas, ready for the inevitable at any moment. The baker finds himself looking straight across the square, at one of the tall buildings. He said he lived there. The city boy. The rude, condescending one.

 

The one that Seungsik can’t get out of his head.

 

Seungsik frowns. The memory of their run-in at the bar still makes him want to curl up and die. It’s one of the memories he’s pretty sure will make him cringe decades into the future. He’d just complimented him. Probably. Maybe? Seungsik still isn’t sure. Sejun asserts that the guy had been flirting (he also won’t stop needling the baker about _who_ the mystery guy is). Still. Disarming and approachable? That’s not flirtation. That sounds like the sort of stuff people say to an employee or a stranger that they don’t want to offend.

 

 _And I got offended_ , Seungsik pinches the bridge of his nose _. Well why was he saying crap like that, anyway?_ As always, his thoughts go in circles. One second, he puts the blame on himself, the next it’s city boy’s fault for being so rude in the first place. He’s not sure where he should settle; all he knows is that he hates city boy’s guts. The passing infatuation will probably go away in a few days, maybe a week. Then, Seungsik can laugh at himself for even somewhat entertaining the notion of being attracted to the prick.

  
_Why can’t anything be easy?_ He laments. It’s pathetic. It’s beyond pathetic, really. Even though he hates this guy, he’s still angsting over him like a teenager. He wishes he could just make him nice. Seungwoo is objectively droolworthy based on his pretty face and gorgeous figure alone. Is it too much to ask for him to have a nice personality, too?

 

“Ding. Ding.”

 

The bell to Newvoice rings, dragging Seungsik’s eyes away from the bleak scene outside. He quirks an eyebrow, surprised to see Heo Chan of all people. _He’s early_ , Seungsik chuckles to himself. Typically, Chan waits for Hanse to show up. Then, he makes his entrance, spouting some excuse (or, occasionally, admitting he’s just being truant).

 

“What’s up?” Seungsik asks, moving from the window to lean over the cash wrap.

 

“Bored,” Chan shrugs nonchalantly.

 

 _And this is a place for entertainment?_ “Do you work today?”

 

“Nah, today’s a day off.”

 

“Trying to catch Hanse?” Seungsik pesters the other, his lips upturning into a smirk. Chan immediately flushes at the ears. He’s about a subtle as a rhinoceros painted bright pink and set loose in the square.

 

Chan simply shrugs, never properly answering the inquiry; instead, he approaches the counter, “You know what? I’m actually gonna eat.” He gives a dimpled smile.

 

Seungsik chuckles, “Oh? Whoa, I should like, take a picture of this moment. I’ll frame it and title it: ‘That One Time That Chan Actually Sat Down and Had a Pastry’ - has a nice ring, right?”

 

“Wow. You missed your calling as a- a namer. A person who names things. Is that a thing? A job title?”

 

“I dunno, but I heard that nail polish gets some pretty wild names.”

 

“Yeah, right. You could’ve done that.”

 

“Oh darn,” Seungsik dramatically frowns, “My parents must be so disappointed.”

 

“Terribly,” Chan nods with a laugh. “Okay, for real though. Coffee and a sweet brioche bun.”

 

“Is that how we ask for things?” The baker teases.

 

“Coffee and a sweet brioche bun _please_.”

 

“Better,” Seungsik chuckles. Chan fishes his wallet out of the pockets of his black striped sweats to pay as Seungsik gets his coffee. The selection of bossa-nova inspired pop feels all too bright to Seungsik, and he makes a mental note to switch up the playlist when he gets a chance. There’s still a few sweet brioche buns left which makes plating and serving quick enough. Chan mutters a thanks and scrolls his phone after paying.

 

When Seungsik manages to change the playlist to something softer, things finally seem to right themselves. He sighs again, letting the newfound feeling of peace wash over him. Sejun is in the back prepping a bit. Chan is sitting quietly (a very, very rare occurrence), and everything is tidy for the afternoon. For a minute, all is in order.

 

Just a minute, though.

 

“Ding!”

 

“Yo!” Hanse’s loud voice gets through the door before his body does.

  
_Well, that was a nice two minutes of peace and quiet,_ “Hey. You’re early!” He’s early; Chan’s early. Seungsik starts to get suspicious. He wonders if time is off or if he’s the one off.

 

“Just a bit,” Hanse shrugs. He doesn’t hesitate to slide into the seat next to Chan’s. Things get louder. Way louder.

 

Sejun pops out of the kitchen door to greet the two, “Hey!” They greet him with an echoed “hey” before going back to talking. It’s like they’re in their own little world. Sejun, wearing a lopsided smirk, takes a spot next to Seungsik, shaking his head.

 

“Those two are more reliable than the trains in the city,” Sejun jokes.

 

Seungsik can’t help but laugh at the lame joke. It’s true. They’re just like that. Seungsik is close to Sejun, but they’ve always been different than, well, that. Chanse. Whatever actual word can be used to describe them. Maybe “friendship” is fitting, but Seungsik feels like it’s disingenuous. Sometimes, it’s like the two are on a different plane of existence from the rest of them. Seungsik has overheard their conversations before. They talk about absolutely nothing - but everything, too. It sounds like utter nonsense to him, but the way the speak emphatically, gesturing and laughing and yelling, it has to mean something. It’s impressive, really. Like a made up language or a barrier that only they can penetrate.

 

“When the heat death of the universe happens, those two will probably be live streaming it,” Seungsik laughs. He watches Chan feed Hanse a chunk of sweet brioche without even looking. Without even a word. He just does it, and Hanse just knows to take it. Lucky.

 

“You’ve been kinda spacey today. You alright?” Sejun asks.

 

Alarmed, Seungsik’s eyes widen and he stutters, “Wh- A-alright?” He scoffs, “I’m- I’m fine. What?”

 

“You can act better than that. I’ve seen you play innocent many a time.”

 

“It’s not _my_ fault that authority figures feel inclined to give me stern warnings in favor of punishments,” Seungsik crosses his arm in a farce of a pout.

 

“Uh-huh. Come on, spill. What’s bothering you?” Sejun is persistent. _Damn him for being a good friend!_

 

“The weather is turning to crap,” Seungsik says.

 

“Can you try a little harder than that if you’re gonna feed me a lie?”

 

“What? We get like. Half a year of acceptable weather before this place freezes over and turns into a winter blunderland. We can’t even enjoy it when the weather is like this.”

 

“Seungsik how much time do you spend outdoors?”

 

“Some people don’t like rain regardless! It makes life more difficult. Shopping, going to work…”

 

“You live upstairs.”

 

“And those stairs get very slippery!”

 

Sejun snorts at that bit. Seungsik knows very well that he’s not fooling nobody, but he’s not about to tell Sejun that his weird bar encounter is still bothering him. Sejun probably knows that’s _exactly_ what’s bothering his friend. It doesn’t mean Seungsik needs to fluff the other’s ego by saying it in words.

 

“Okay, seriously?” Sejun lifts his notched eyebrow.

 

Seungsik rolls his eyes. Luckily, Chan and Hanse manage to distract Sejun by doing, well, something. Neither are sure what, but yelling is involved. Their laughter echoes loudly up and down the narrow bakery, and Hanse shoves Chan playfully. When the commotion settles down, the to resume their relatively calm conversation as if nothing had happened.

 

Once again, the baker spaces out slightly. His eyes drift, and they find Chan’s.

  
Chan’s eyes squint slightly with his large, dimpled smile. His shoulders shake, and a happy flush has settled on his cheeks and ears. Hanse is talking about something animatedly. Seungsik catches little syllables - he thinks games are involved. Or some anime. He’s not positive. Whatever it is, Chan is enraptured. He sits there patiently, nodding and engaging as Hanse spins some story or tells him some weird, gory fact that nobody actually needs to know. It’s like Chan’s smile is glued there, just permanently fixed. His gaze occasionally wanders, it meanders down Hanse’s face slightly or even down to his shoulders, but it always finds a way back up to Hanse’s eyes.

 

Seungsik can feel the weight of it, the sheer, unadulterated feeling behind those eyes. When Chan looks at Hanse, they’re different. They’ve got a twinkle in them - a twinkle that nobody else receives. Only Hanse gets that twinkle. He looks at Hanse like he’s the most fascinating, breathtaking, captivating person in the whole entire world. Maybe to Chan, he is.

 

No, not maybe. Very definitely yes.

 

Chan almost looks like he’s in awe or wonder in Hanse’s presence. It’s not like it’s blatant, but Seungsik sees it. He’s had to third wheel with the two of them and known both of them for years. Sejun sees it, too. They all do, actually. All of them except, of course, Do Hanse. Chan’s admiration borders on reverence for the other and, in a way, it’s almost heart-wrenching. Usually, Seungsik isn’t phased by it, but today things are different for some reason. Maybe it’s the dismal weather or the healing scar from his awkward bar encounter with a cute guy. For the first time in a long time - maybe ever - he looks at Chan, really looks at him. He sits on the other side of that pane of invisible glass separating Chanse from the world, and he watches, stupefied. For the first time, he thinks to himself:

 

_God, I wish someone would look at me like that._

_Just once._

 

Chan laughs. He brushes his forearm against Hanse’s in a sneaky, seemingly innocent gesture. His eyes constantly flit down Hanse’s face - to his lips, Seungsik realizes. He’d watched the other check Hanse out for years and just now notices that. Occasionally, his fingers twitch a bit, or he swallows extra hard. It’s astounding.

 

_What’s it like to have someone look at you like that?_

 

_How does he not even notice?!_

 

“Hello?” Sejun’s voice suddenly breaches Seungsik’s daze. The head baker hops from surprise, and a sheepish flush drops down his face.

 

“Wh-”

 

“Dude, seriously? You just zoned out. _Again_.”

 

“Sorry, I um-”

 

“What’s your deal, dude? You’re gonna burn your hand or- or cut a finger off at this rate,” Sejun’s tone drops from done with the world to genuinely concerned.

 

Seungsik sighs, his shoulders sinking, “I… I am spacy today. I apologize. I am your boss, and it’s my duty to lead you-”

 

“Sik, you don’t have to do the whole HR ‘boss’ thing right now,” Sejun lowers his voice, his tone softening even more, “I’m serious. What… What is it?”

 

The baker’s lips part to say something, but he clamps them shut. Seungwoo pops up in his head again. Seungsik almost can’t help himself, but he lassos in his rogue thoughts, rushing to give some sort of response.

 

“Look, I, uh…” Seungsik glances over at the happy not-couple tittering at the table in the distance. Gears in his heads start turning, and he hushes himself to barely a whisper, “I’m worried about Chan.”

 

Sejun’s eyebrows raise in surprise, and he looks over at the duo. He nods, apparently accepting the explanation. Head tilted, he asks:

 

“What about him?”

 

“W-well, he, um, he kinda likes Hanse, you know?” Seungsik whispers.

 

“Yeah,” Sejun nods, his his brows furrowed in bafflement. “Yeah- like, half the town knows.”

 

“Shut up! I- I mean I know, but…” Seungsik glances over at the two again. “Like, do you think he’s ever gonna do anything about it?”

 

The notch-browed patissier looks up in thought for a few moments, actually chewing on the question. Relief floods Seungsik; it seems like he’d given a good enough distraction.

 

“Nah,” Sejun says finally, “He’s too much of a chicken. Plus, he loves what they have now. He’d never risk losing that.”

 

“I guess, yeah. I just- Man, don’t you think it drives him crazy sometimes?” Seungsik presses further, driving the topic of conversation further and further away from himself.

 

“Oh, definitely. Remember when Hanse and Bomi dated in high school?”

 

“Oh, yeah. He, um, he took that pretty well. He started working then, didn’t he?”

 

“Yeah so he could fund his sudden onset of sneaker obsession.”

 

“Oh, yeah, his collection… I mean, that did stick-”

 

“He used to spend hours polishing them one by one, Sik. Hours.”

 

“I… I do remember that,” Even though it’s kind of pitiful, Seungsik can’t help laughing a little at it. The mental image of foolish Chan painstakingly polishing anything is kind of funny. “Someone smudged one of his, like limited edition pairs.”

 

“Oh yeah, poor Sungjae.”

 

“Only time I ever saw Chan actually mad. Like actually mad.”

 

“It was terrifying.”

 

“Sungjae wasn’t the same ever since. Always avoided us after that…”

 

“Yeah- does breaking a kid’s nose seem like healthy coping behavior to you?” Sejun asks rhetorically.

 

“What’s he gonna do when Hanse…” _When Hanse what?_ Seungsik wonders himself. He doesn’t really think to the far future often. Thinking of Hanse’s is even weirder. He’s going to school for music production. Then what? Will he move to the city, too? And what about Sejun? What about Chan? Will Chan follow Hanse? His train of thought starts venturing into deeper territory than he wants it to. Thankfully, Sejun finishes his sentence before he can go off the rails in existential crisis.

 

“When Hanse finds someone that isn’t him?” Sejun frowns. “I… I don’t know.”

 

“Y-yeah. Like I said. Worried.”

 

“Eh. Don’t worry too much. Chan is strong as heck. Anyways it’s not like anything drastic is gonna happen tomorrow or anything…” Sejun purses his lips. After a small pause, he follows his statement up, “Great, now you’ve got _me_ worried.”

 

“Sorry!” Seungsik chuckles impishly. “I just- It’s a thing.”

 

“What’s a thing?” Hanse hollers from across the room.

 

“Nothing!” “Nothing!” The two bakers shout back in unison.

 

“You two look so shady right now!” Chan comments with a laugh.

 

“Thanks, that’s what we were going for!” Seungsik replies.

 

“Ah, those two,” Sejun comments in a lower voice when the riotous duo’s attention is back on Hanse’s phone. The patissier leans in closer, whispering, “Don’t worry. Chan’ll be fine. Probably. They’re in a happy bubble. Maybe it’ll burst this summer, but it probably won’t.” He shrugs. “Don’t let it eat at you too much. Chan’s thirsting never hurt anybody, and Hanse definitely doesn’t notice it.”

 

Seungsik forces out a laugh, nodding in agreement, “Right. Thanks, man.”

 

“I’m gonna go check on the loaves in the oven. Should be done in a minute or two.”

 

“Cool, awesome,” Seungsik watches Sejun disappear into the back before turning back to watch the two again.

 

Deep down he’s got a lingering fear about being alone. Well, saying it’s one lingering fear is wrong. It’s more like dozens of fears, perpetually flying around in his head. Sometimes they come, sometimes they go, some stick for longer and some have never left. Others only rear their ugly head when he’s drunk, or confronted with sad situations. Looking at Chan, he thinks about his fears. Their distillation results in one single fear: that he’ll never find love. Ever.

 

It’s a pretty common fear, he knows, but looking at Chan, another one creeps into the back of his mind. What if he does find love, but his feelings aren’t returned. What if he’s like Chan, pining and pining and pining. Like some sort of eternal sentence - a love purgatory. Stasis.

 

What’s worse: being alone, or perpetual pining?

  
Seungsik knows what it’s like to be alone. That, he can do. It’s a bit mopey at times, but he’s survived it for the majority of his life. He’s never been in love. Not really. Not in that eye-twinkling, adoration bordering on worship, through thick and thin kind of love.

  
_Sejun was right_ , Seungsik muses. _Chan_ is _strong._

  
Chan has endured all of those feelings for so long, and he’s never asked for anything in return. He’s never broken down or spilled his feelings - at least, not as far as the guys know. He’s always  been there, through the highest highs and lowest lows. In spite of all of that, he loves. Not just half-assedly, either. He always loves with all of his heart, unabashedly and unapologetically, never letting go.

 

Seungsik isn’t sure he’s capable of that, and that scares him.

  


* * *

 

Dim gray filters in through Seungwoo’s half-lidded eyes first thing in the morning. He tries to blink them open, but it’s almost like their glued shut with cement. After entirely too much effort, he pries them open and is met with the dreary sight of gray skies beyond his window. A frown tugs his lips downwards.

 

Pressure.

 

There’s so much pressure.

 

It squeezes his head like gravity itself is trying to crush his skull from every side. Seungwoo winces, and his face scrunches in pain. To make matters worse, he can’t breathe. Nothing’s quite as exhilarating as trying to take a deep breath and learning that the nose has decided to take a day off.

 

_It’s gonna be a long day._

 

After cursing internally for a few seconds, he glances around hazily to find his phone. It looks so dark outside, but it’s not night time.

 

 _Did I wake up early?_ He wonders to himself. _I swear if my alarm’s gonna go off in a few minutes-_

 

“Boom-!!”

 

The thunderous bass of Seungwoo’s alarm song blares out from his phone speaker as if cued.

 

“Wh- Crap! Stop-” Seungwoo shoots up - something he regrets almost immediately. Hurt shoots from the back of his head down his spine. His brain lags significantly, and he whips his head around in search of where he’d last set his phone.

 

After entirely too much effort, Seungwoo finds it. He paws at his side table blindly until coming in contact with the cool glass of his phone screen. The song is on full blast, and with every beat of the backing bass the pain in his head pulses more intensely. He taps at the infernal device violently, willing the awful noise to stop.

 

Seungwoo squints at the screen, and the brightness actually hurting his eyes. The sound had stopped, but he had, apparently, opened an app in his blind poking.

  
“What the…” He murmurs to himself, trying to comprehend what he’d tapped on his phone. His head throbs as he blinks rapidly to clear the bleariness from his eyes. Icons and fonts start coming into view, and he realizes he’d somehow tapped “recent sites” in his browser or something. The familiar symbol of his zodiac sign decorates the top of the page, and beneath it, a horoscope:

 

“Good morning Capricorn. I hope you slept well, because you’re in for a bumpy ride today. We know Caps are stubborn as they come. You’re fierce and self-reliant - which is exactly why today’s going to be especially challenging for you. Remember that depending on others isn’t a sign of weakness. Shed that conservative cocoon and open up, Cap! Something exciting is coming your way - but only if you let it.”

 

“Ugh,” Seungwoo scoffs, rolling his eyes.  Tossing his phone on the bed, he glances out the window of his flat noticing droplets on the glass. It’s drizzling. Great. “Ugh- What in the-” Seungwoo hisses, bringing his hand to his forehead. It hurts. Bad. The pain radiates from his temples across his forehead and down his nose. It trickles into his teeth and the back of his neck. Had he really been sleeping that bad? He wonders.

 

“Crap,” The student groans. Lethargically, he gets up. He doesn’t nearly pass out, which is a plus, but the consolation is small considering how his entire body hurts. It just. Hurts. Pain. _Everywhere_. Aches knock at his joints and muscles like they’d been waiting to be let in for a long, long time. The slight tickle in his throat had evolved into a nagging scratch, and it hurt slightly when he swallowed. He quickly deduces that it’s probably due to the sinus drainage. Everything is clogged up and everything hurts.

  
 _Fantastic. Just fantastic._ Seungwoo thinks. He’d done all the right things the previous day. Okay, so he’d done his full workout and extra cardio - but aside from that he’d eaten a meal and taken some more medicine.

 

“Just get through it,” Seungwoo mumbles to himself. “Just get through it, you’re fine.” As if in protest, his brain sends out another wave of pain across his temples. He winces, but pretends to ignore it - like he’s at actual odds with his own brain. Han Seungwoo doesn’t take to sickness. At all. He figures it’s probably a little cold anyways. Some meds and fluids will clear him up in a matter of hours, and his awful morning will be a nasty memory.

 

Everything moves more slowly that morning, but he does it. Showering is by far the most blissful part of the morning thus far, the hot water soothing his body and the vapors soothing his sinuses. Unfortunately, that little spell of joy ends way too quickly. When he steps out, a shiver comes over him that never quite leaves, and his sinuses close back up without the gentle coaxing of steam. After a very, very slothful run through his routine, he manages to find a mask in his first aid kit and slings it over his ears.

 

Full of determination, he marches out of his door, locking it behind him. The steps feel extra wobbly beneath his feet, but he gets to the ground okay and is off. Once again, he bounds through the courtyard. Well, not so much bounds as drags his feet. His eyes drift over to the bakery, Newvoice, and he frowns.

 

 _A cup of tea would be amazing right now._ He laments. He really should have made one himself - this he knows - but he’s never tried their loose-leaf blends, and it’s always nice when someone else fixes a proper cup of tea. Suddenly, Seungwoo seizes. A vicious cough takes over his whole body, scraping and scratching his lungs and throat until it finally claws its way out of his mouth. He shakes with the force of the awful thing and if he wasn’t sure before, he’s _definitely_ sure now that part of his soul is gone. His entire body responds to the cough: his muscles ache and the pain in his head squeezes, a crushing sensation.

 

It’s miserable, but Seungwoo grits his teeth. He doesn’t care. _It’s just pain_ , he tells himself. _It’ll go away_.

 

Slowly, he continues his trip to work. Unfortunately, the fantasy of the handsome (albeit sensitive) baker brewing him a cup of tea and speaking soft words of reassurance into his ear is just that: a fantasy. He trudges toward the hill, counting down the minutes until his medicine actually kicks in.

 

* * *

 

“Do Hanse, go to bed,” Chan half-says, half-yawns into his phone. He stretches out on his bed, the excess of plush and pillows billowing around him.

 

“Wh- It’s- it’s only… Oh,” Hanse’s voice is slightly fuzzy on the other side of the receiver - not that Chan cares. He smirks.

 

“Yeah, oh,” Chan tells the other, another big yawn taking over his body.

 

“Wait- Did you… Did you set an alarm to tell me to go to sleep?”

 

“Maybe.”

 

“Are you serious?” Hanse snickers.

 

“What? You literally _told_ me to.”

 

“Yeah, but I didn’t think you would! I thought you’d forget or just stay asleep. You don’t work ‘til noon.”

 

“And you work at three which is in, like, six hours.”

 

“Uh, it’s in eight hours-”

 

“ _Listen_!” Chan animatedly huffs into the phone, “I- I am slow okay. It’s seven in the morning. Ish.”

 

“Okay, mom, I’ll go to bed. Fine.”

 

Chan chuckles, fighting to keep down yet another yawn (he’s definitely sleeping more after this), “I’m, like, surprised and also not surprised that you’re up.”

 

“Blame Subinnie. He’s a bad influence. Great at shooters, though!” Hanse jokes.

 

It pricks Chan ever so slightly. The sensation is like a thorn - tiny, but ever present. Even a thorn can cause a mighty lion to wail in pain. Chan swallows, laughing it off. _Subinnie_ , he thinks. He didn’t know Subin is the night owl type until just then. _You learn something new every day._

 

“Whatever he says, say no. If he takes out weed or alcohol, just call me sweetie, okay. I’ll pick you up,” Chan says facetiously.

 

Hanse laughs loudly, and Chan has to actually take the phone away from his ear. Even though he can’t see the other smile, the thought of Hanse’s face all wrinkled with joy makes him smile. Chan gives up and puts Hanse on speaker.

 

“What?” Chan asks. “Dude, it wasn’t that funny. The fact that you’re laughing like that that is just proof you need sleep.”

 

“It’s just funny the- the contrast in your voice,” Hanse mutters as he comes down from his sleep-deprived mania, “Your words say mom but your voice is so- so husky.”

 

 _Husky?_ Chan ponders the word. He tosses it around a bit in his head. He likes that sound of that. Husky. Strong and a bit gruff. That’s nice. He keens at it just a tiny bit.

 

“I just woke up. I’m like, sixty percent asleep,” Chan responds in his _husky_ , sleepy voice. “And you should be a hundred percent asleep.”

 

“Okay, okay. I’m getting off of my PC now, I promise,” Hanse says in defeat. Even though he didn’t mention it, Chan has a feeling that Hanse worked on some music, too. Hanse stays up late, but his bed time is around three or four in the morning. Not seven. Not unless he’s got a project. Chan’s already excited to hear it, whatever it is. Hanse’s brilliant. Actually brilliant - and Chan genuinely believes that. He knows it.

 

“Good. ‘Cause I’m gonna pass out again,” Chan replies.

 

“What? No bedtime story?”

 

“A bedtime story? Really?”

 

The muffled sound of things shifting around echoes out from the speaker on Chan’s phone. Hanse’s moving - probably to bed if he can guess. He hears more little noises - clicks and surges of static - before Hanse returns.

 

“I like the one with the princess and the tower,” Hanse says in his high-pitched baby voice.

 

Now it’s Chan’s turn to laugh, and he does. The world smudges and smears for a couple of minutes because all he can see is the obscured version of it through his squinted eyes. That’s one of Hanse’s special talents, he supposes.

 

“What? Why won’t you tell me a story?” Hanse asks, still using his baby voice.

 

“Stop,” Chan asks -it’s more of a plea, really. His stomach is starting to hurt.

 

“Stop what?” Baby Hanse asks.

 

“Oh my- I’m- I’m serious you-”

 

“I just want a story, Chan. Can you pwease tell me a story?”

 

“Can you please- please stop.”

 

“But you didn’t tell me a story yet!” Hanse remains steadfast.

 

“Ow, my stomach. Ow!”

 

“Channie, pretty, pretty pretty please tell me a-” Suddenly, Hanse’s voice cracks. He coughs slightly before breaking out into his own fit of giggles. “Ouch, that hurts after a bit.”

 

“Oh… Oh…” Chan sinks back into his mattress after having convulsions from gut tearing laughter. “Thank you.”

 

“I could have done it longer if I wasn’t so sleep deprived,” Hanse taunts the other.

 

“No, no, that’s fine. I think we had enough.”

 

“Well sorry, not all of us can have sultry, deep, _sexy_ voices like-” Hanse dramatically lowers his voice, “Heo Chan.”

 

Chan snorts again (making another wave of pain run down his abdomen). Fire sears his skin, and it flushes his face and ears a bright pink. An ear to ear smile stretches across his face and, even though Hanse can’t see it, Chan clamps a hand over his mouth to hide it. All Hanse had done was say a joke, but even that little mocking compliment makes the other giddy.

 

“Yeah, guess not. Sucks to be you,” Chan responds quickly, hoping the pause wasn’t weird or longer than he thought.

 

“Wow, thanks, Chan. Really glad we have this wonderful relationship built on mutual kindness and shared values.”

 

“Go to bed, Hanse.”

 

“I am in bed.”

 

“Go to sleep.”

 

“I will soon. Probably.”

 

“Hanse,” Chan purses his lips, “I’m serious. Don’t ride that bike sleep deprived. It’s dangerous.”

 

“It’s a _bike-_ ”

 

“If you get put in the hospital it’ll only be hilarious for, like, a week. Then it’s just sad. Do you want to be sad, Hanse? Do you want people to ask you to sign your cast, eyes filled with- with pity?”

 

There’s a pause.

 

Check mate, Chan thinks to himself, a grin of smug satisfaction gracing his features.

 

“You suck,” Hanse says in defeat.

 

“I do if you can afford it.”

 

“You can’t be that expensive.”

 

“I’m out of your price range.”

 

“Like I’d want to buy you.”

 

“Like I’d let you.”

 

“Like I’d-”

 

“Good night, Hanse,” Chan cuts him off. They could probably go on for hours - something neither of them need.

 

Hanse laughs softly on the other side of the line. Chan can tell the other is fading. He heard more and more yawns as the call progressed, and Hanse’s own voice is a bit hoarse with sleepiness.

 

“No fair,” Hanse says, “You get the last word.”

 

“We can continue our riveting debate tomorrow- er, well, today.”

 

“Yeah. Yikes. Well, good night, Chan.”

 

“Good night,” Chan lilts, ready to hang up.

 

“Wait, wait, wait!” Hanse suddenly exclaims. Chan’s hand draws back swiftly, and he narrows his eyes at his phone screen like it’ll give him an answer. He swallows down a lump of nerves that had managed to stick itself in his throat.

 

“What- what is it?” Chan asks.

 

Hanse, significantly more calm, responds: “Thank you.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Thank you for actually telling me to go the heck to sleep.”

 

“I told you I would.”

 

“I- I know, I just- I didn’t expect it.”

 

“I keep my promises,” Chan shrugs even though the other can’t see it.

 

“Yeah, you do. Okay, for real this time: good night.”

 

“Yeah. Go to sleep. I’m depriving you of precious sleep time. Don’t let me do that. Don’t stand for that!”

 

Hanse chuckles on the other side of the phone, and it enters Chan’s ears as sweet music. Okay, so it’s not exactly the most dainty sound on the planet, but it means Hanse is happy - and that, to Chan, is the makings of a masterpiece.

 

“Okay, okay. G’night.”

 

“Night,” Chan says. There’s a brief pause, and neither hang up. Without even thinking the words, they leave his lips. It’s like they’d been waiting for a chance to escape. They make a break for it, leaving Chan’s mouth without his permission.

 

“Wait,” Chan says.

 

“Hm?” Hanse takes his turn in being confused. “What is it? What’s up?”

 

 _Say it_ , Chan tells himself. _Just. Just say it. Say it._

 

“Hanse, I…” Conflicting voices in his head start going at it:

 

_Do it._

_Or… Don’t?_

_What if it goes catastrophically? This could ruin everything?_

_What if it goes well - it could change your life!_

_Don’t do it, you’ll make everything complicated._

_You can’t hold onto it forever._

_This won’t just affect you, this’ll affect everyone. You could ruin it for everyone._

_Be selfish for once. Do this for you. You deserve to get it off of your chest!_

 

“What is it?” Hanse asks more attentively.

 

_Tell him._

_Don’t tell him._

_Tell him._

_Don’t tell him._

_Tell him._

  
_Don’t_

 

“Nothing,” Chan says with a forced laugh. “I- I forgot, I’m sorry. My brain is like. Still in dreamland. G’night, man.”

 

“Are… Are you sure?” Hanse sounds hesitant to hang up the phone.

 

“Wh- Yeah. Man I woke up at seven in the mourning just to tell you to sleep. My brain’s a little fried.”

 

“Yeah, right, but um… You know if you ever need-”

 

“To talk about anything. I know, I know.”

 

“I know it’s literally the corniest possible thing, but… Like, honestly I doubt you could shock me. You don’t need to keep secrets from me. I literally don’t care, I’ll go with whatever.”

 

“Thank god because I really need help hiding a body-”

 

“Ha ha, very funny.”

 

“You said you’d go with whatever! I’m disappointed,” Chan feigns.

 

“Okay, fine. We’re both too sleep deprived and sober for realtalk anyway. Good night Chan. For real.”

 

“For real,” Chan replied. “Good night.” Before anything else stupid can come out of his mouth, he taps the hang up button furiously. When the screen finally switches off, he heaves a sigh of relief. A dizzying buzz had settled into his veins, and there it stayed: a combination of nerves and ecstasy, all elicited by one Do Hanse.

 

 _Sexy_ , Chan thinks. _He was totally joking, but still… He said my morning voice was sexy._ Unable to help it, Chan tosses and thrashes happily in his bed. That giddy buzz wraps him in warmth, coaxing him back into a pleasant, restful sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

“Good morning!” Eunji’s chipper voice follows the whooshing noise of Sunrise’s automatic door. The gust of air conditioning that follows sends a spine clattering shiver down Seungwoo’s spine. He nearly coughs but manages to clamp his mouth shut just in time.  
  
“Morning,” Seungwoo greets back, his voice raspy. He drags his feet in through the threshold, beelining it toward the doors to the back. No sooner than he takes two steps in does he hear a flurry of protests from his seniors.  
  
“Whoa, whoa, whoa-” “Hold up.” “He looks worse than before…” “Does he look worse than before?” “He totally works worse- Are you worse?” “Look at that flush…” “His eyes are puffy.” “A little sickly, too-”  
  
As much as he enjoys hearing people talk about how flushed and sickly he looks, Seungwoo would much prefer getting to work. He heaves a sigh, holding his hands up.  
  
“I’m fine-” He starts.  
  
“You do not look fine,” Eunji crosses her arms defiantly.  
  
“You look like a zombie,” Chorong agrees with a nod.  
  
“It’s just some allergies-”  
  
“It does not sound like allergies,” Eunji strides over to Seungwoo quickly, an eyebrow quirked and her arms crossed sternly. Squinting her eyes, she leans forward to scrutinize him.  
  
“Wh- I-” Just as he’s about to mount a more hardy resistance, another cough flies out of Seungwoo’s lungs, scraping his throat along the way. Then another. And another. He digs his face into the crook of his elbow, paralyzed by his body’s betrayal.  
  
Eunji throws her hands up, looking back at Chorong as if to say “I knew it”. The MA shrugs from behind the desk, merely gesturing back. Seungwoo feels very talked about. He wishes he could tell them to knock off their (nonverbal) conversation about him - like he’s not right there. Except, he can’t. He’s too busy coughing. The pulsing pain in his head flickers rapidly. It’s like a strobe light, alternating between intense and manageable agony.  
  
“I’m- I-” Seungwoo coughs again. When he finds some sort of ceasefire from the assault on his body, he continues. “I am okay, really. I know to keep my fluids up and-”  
  
Without warning Eunji’s hand pops up. She gingerly extends it toward Seungwoo’s forehead. She purses her lips, further studying the sad state of the man in front of her.  
  
Oh no, Seungwoo thinks. Am I gonna get scolded? I came in on time, didn’t I?  
  
When she’s done with her assessment, she steps back, “Yeah, no. Go home.”  
  
Seongwoo’s eyes blow wide open, “Wh- Excuse me?” He realizes his tone came out a bit more offended than he’d intended. “I- I mean-”  
  
“You’ve got a fever, Seungwoo,” Eunji responds calmly, her tone a bit softer.  
  
She is not treating me like a patient right now, Seungwoo pouts internally; “I- I mean I hadn’t taken a temperature. It’s hot outside and I walk here. That’s probably what it is.”  
  
“Really? You- You’re trying that with me,” Eunji turns to Chorong, “He’s trying that with me?”  
  
“He is so trying it.”  
  
Seungwoo can only chuckle sheepishly at that. His seniors know when to turn on the serious switch, but when patients aren’t around, act like older sisters. While he’s used to having an older sister, it’s definitely not something he’s experienced in a work setting before. Still, it’s cool - save for instances in which they worry way too much, like today.  
  
“I promise, I’m fine,” He insists.  
  
Chorong pinches her nose, leaning over the desk and mimicking him, “I promise, I’m fine.”  
  
“See, if we let you stay, you’d be subjected to that all day,” Eunji chuckles, gesturing to the medical assistant.  
  
“I don’t mind,” Seungwoo shrugs, taking a step toward the doors to the back. He’s usually pretty fast, but Eunji’s faster. She blocks the way, and even though she’s short her presence carries an aura of unparalleled imposition. “Wh- I- I’m serious. I have a mask, my- my-” A surge of aching misery races across Seungwoo’s head from temple to temple. “My little allergy episode isn’t going to hurt anyone,” He finishes, hoping the strain isn’t apparent in his voice.  
  
“Neither is staying home for once,” Eunji replies. “Or twice. I don’t care what you say, you are wearing your misery on your face.”  
  
“I promise it won’t affect my work with patients at all. I need the hours-”  
  
“What you need is rest.”  
  
“B-”  
  
“No more buts! Do not make us drag you out of here. She-” Eunji points to Chorong, “-has a black belt.”  
  
“I do!” Chorong chimes in.  
  
Seungwoo pouts, and he’s thankful they can’t see the pathetic expression behind his mask. Is this real life? Any other hospital would chastise me for calling off because of a stupid cold. Sure, I may be a bit tired, but who cares?! It’s not like I’m gushing blood or have pneumonia. There’s no virus going around or anything. I get the whole ‘we care for people like family’ hippie thing, but really?  
  
“Okay, fine I’m-” Before he’s allowed to even finish the sentence, Eunji grabs his shoulders and starts pushing him toward the door. “Hey- Hey! This isn’t very professional!”  
  
“Neither is being mopey and sick all day,” Eunji says. “Now, can I trust you to make the trip back without passing out? You sound winded.”  
  
“I will be-”  
  
“Fine, fine. I get it. Tough guy.”  
  
The doors whish again, opening as the PT student and his senior register in the sensor.  
  
“Exactly.”  
  
“Are you sure you don’t want us to call you a car? Oh- I can see if Naeun’s on her way. She can drop you off-”  
  
“No, no, please don’t do that!” The exclamation makes his throat scratch even more.  
  
Eunji finally relents a little, dropping her hands off of his shoulder, “Alright, alright. Come back in two days-”  
  
“Two!?”  
  
“I will make it three. Don’t test me!”  
  
Seungwoo groans, “Yes, ma’am.”  
  
“That’s what I like to hear. Now go home and get some rest. We’ll call to check in on you soon, okay?”  
  
“Yes ma’am,” Seungwoo replies more dejectedly. He frowns, stepping back out into the frothy humidity of the morning.  
  
“Feel better soon!” Chorong calls as he walks further away.  
  
“We’ll see you in a couple of days!” Eunji adds, waving. When he’s finally far enough away, the automatic doors close, and everything feels quiet. With congestion still clogging his ears and fatigue hazing his vision, the entire world seems muffled. It’s like he’s experiencing life covered in a sheet. A sheet that exudes pain.  
  
Seungwoo heaves a sigh and wrings a hand down his face. Two days? Really? Two days off means two extra days worth of hours to make up. It could mean two more days in the crappy little town that he’s started likening to hell. Ugh.  
  
In a huff, Seungwoo starts his trip back home. At the very least he can take it slow, and slow does he take it. The world twists and turns with each step he takes. He simultaneously feels like he’s floating and like his legs are filled with lead. His feet scuff along the pavement as he takes his trip back home. Even breathing hurts. Breathing.  
  
About halfway down the hill, Seungwoo finds a tree to lean on.  
  
His ears buzz from the pure, unadulterated ire clenching at his temples. Even though he’d taken a veritable cocktail of over the counter medicines, nothing seems to have worked. Feverish sweat settles on Seungwoo’s brow, and goosebumps prick his skin. He sniffles. Every breath feels like a fight, and even with his valiant effort, they never feel like enough.  
  
Okay, so maybe going home wasn’t such a bad idea, he muses. His brain feels like mush. Flaming, aching mush. As much as he loathes to admit it, bed is probably going to be his best friend now. With that concession of defeat, Seungwoo braces himself for more misery as he heads back down the hill. Bed beckons him like a seductive lover, and he can’t wait to climb into its soft, cushiony embrace.

 

* * *

  
  
Jung Subin stretches out languorously in his chair, belly full and happily caffeinated. A lazy half-smile settles onto his lips. Per usual, Seungsik’s biscuits with jam is perfect. (He’s the only person within a thousand-kilometer radius who seems to understand that jam doesn’t have to be too sweet.) The baker knows the perfect proportion of cream and sugar to make an ideal cup of coffee, and the company’s good. For a long time, he’d only been able to enjoy it from afar.  
  
Subin had always been a little reserved. Being from the Jung family gives someone a reputation, which doesn’t help. Apparently, great great great great grandpa Jung owned lots of land back in the day. Now, they own land, commercial property, some residential property, a couple of park benches… The list goes on to an amount of absurdity that Subin really doesn’t care to remember. While the Jung fortune could easily go far in the city, the family has always been content to stay put. When people know your name, they treat you different. They’re fixtures in the community, even helping raise up the Healing Center and fund the public school.  
  
Of course, none of this does anything for Subin’s social life. He’s either a snob who refuses to talk to people or intimidating and unapproachable. Few ever come to the truthful conclusion: he’s a little shy. He supposes it’s better than the people at school who do scurry up to his side because he’s rich. Even at his boarding school, where everyone is rich, kids made an effort to drape themselves over him. Something about his family being old money versus the typical new money (because it matters to people or something). Basically, having the surname Jung in town means that Subin can never actually win.  
  
Newvoice has always been sort of an escape from that. Sure, he heard whispers from time to time, but they never treated him any differently than any other customer. They remembered his name, face, and order quick, and always delivered. Plus, seeing the daily banter indulged Subin in the fantasy that he actually had close friends of his own back home.  
  
Dreams do come true, Subin thinks to himself, inadvertently smiling into the bottom of his coffee cup.  
  
“What’re you smiling about?” Sejun asks from behind the pastry case, a little grin on his face. He’s manning the front while Seungsik does some work in the kitchen. In the meanwhile, Chan and Hanse chat animatedly in front of the window. Subin can see large hand gestures from Hanse while Chan bends over with laughter.  
  
“Nothing,” Subin answers.  
  
“Need a refill?”  
  
“Oh, actually, yeah,” The youngest nods. Sejun comes over, coffee pot in hand.  
  
“Thank you,” Subin says politely. The smell of fresh, hot coffee floats up into his nose, and he takes a long whiff. Perfect.  
  
“Lemme get your cream and sugar,” Sejun mutters, disappearing behind the pastry case for a minute before returning with a carton and bottle of simple syrup. Subin’s eyes are drawn out the window again as Sejun pours the impeccable proportion of sweet and cream.  
  
“How long have they known each other?” Subin asks. He doesn’t remember if he has before. The Newvoice crew has been together in some configuration or another ever since he’d started going.  
  
“Hm?” Sejun glances out the large pane of the front window. A breathy chuckle leaves his lips and he smirks, “Oh god, I dunno. Hanse and I grew up here, and Chan moved in… Hm… Like early middle school? Chan was always a year ahead of us and he was… Middle school? Early middle school? So, like, hmm…” The gears churn in Sejun’s head. “Maybe ten years?”  
  
“Dang,” Subin nods, impressed. “Have you known them for that amount of time, too?”  
  
“Well, I grew up here, and Hanse didn’t live too far away. He lives down the street from Seungsik, and I was always at Seungsik’s. It kinda came naturally.”  
  
“Lucky,” Subin pouts jealously. “My closest neighbors are squirrels.”  
  
“I think Chan and Hanse combined have the intellectual capabilities of a squirrel. So, you know, not that far off really.”  
  
The youngest snorts, “At least you can understand what they’re saying. And your parents probably aren’t trying to kill them… I’d hope.”  
  
“One time Hanse knocked over the urn with my grandpa’s ashes. That was the one and only time my parents let me have people over… Pretty sure she was considering stuffing him in an urn of his own - that’s close, right?” Sejun snorts as he recounts the memory.  
  
“Oh my god,” Subin gasps, “And here I thought my dad’s perpetual war with the squirrels was weird.”  
  
“Why is your father at war with woodland critters?”  
  
“I dunno? They eat birdseed and flowers and plants from our gardens,” Subin shrugs. “He tried poisoning them by putting chili powder in the bird feed - since birds can’t taste spice, you know.”  
  
“I know that now,” Sejun raises his eyebrows with interest.  
  
“Yeah, well, apparently our property’s squirrels enjoy spicy food. He also had a period of time where he camped out with an airsoft gun.”  
  
“Huh. That’s so…”  
  
“Obsessive? Sad?” Subin tries the lend the other a hand.  
  
“Heh- I was gonna say normal,” Sejun grins widely, “Like- it’s not normal which… Makes it normal, you know?”  
  
“You lost me.”  
  
“I… Okay, I know you’ve gotten comments like this from us a zillion times, but it’s kind of surreal you live on an estate but your parents are weird.”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“Like- Everyone’s got weird parents. Even you, I guess. That's kind of funny.”  
  
“Is it?” Subin tilts his head curiously. The guys treat him as some rich pariah mostly as a joke, but occasionally he can tell they’re actually awed that he’s not a miniature version of the Monopoly man or something.  
  
“Like, one would think that a rich man would just hire someone to take care of squirrels if it’s such a problem, but your dad camps out.”  
  
“Yeah, my mom and I have brought that up. It’s a pride thing. If he asks for help, he loses. They’ll mock him or something.”  
  
“The squirrels will… Mock him?”  
  
“Symbolically, yes. If they didn’t lack the vocal capabilities of human language, they surely would do so literally, too. I know I would.”  
  
“Fascinating.”  
  
“It’s riveting, really,” The pair of them fill the quiet bakery with laughter for a brief spell. After it dies down, Subin’s eyes drift out toward the others again. They’re still at whatever eventful conversation they’d been having. Subin wants to hang out a bit before he heads back home, but he doesn’t want to interrupt.  
  
Wait… They're both my friends. It’s not interrupting to say hello- is it? His brows furrow and he analyzes the two further. The squint of Chan’s eyes and the way Hanse casually leans in. Is that a conscious thing? Or no?  
  
“They’re dating, right?” Subin asks bluntly. Nothing had been mentioned, but the two are pretty damn coupley. They seem near inseparable first of all. The two never run out of stuff to talk about. Even when Subin is just gaming with Hanse, Chan’s name manages to float into the conversation. He’d assumed for a while that they were an item, but nobody says anything to confirm it. Nobody denies it, either.  
  
“Wh-“ A choked sort of snort comes out of Sejun’s throat, and Subin’s eyes, wide, dart over to the patissier. The patissier’s shoulders shake with laughter, and his brows practically reach his hairline. He shakes his head emphatically, effortfully steadying his shaky voice as he replies, “N-no. No.” His lips squash into a shabby attempt to appear neutral.  
  
Subin’s jaw drops, “Wait-“ He blinks a few times, shaking his head, “Okay, you’re joking right-“  
  
“I’m not,” Sejun shakes his head, “I’m really not.” His voice steadies a bit, and he even looks Subin in the eye to drive his point home, “Those two are not a couple, and- and don’t tell them they act like one, either.”  
  
“Wh- You’re serious?” Subin’s eyes alternate between Sejun’s earnest expression and the not-couple in front of the window.  
  
“You know how it is. Sometimes friends just act like a couple,” Sejun shrugs, obviously trying to dismiss the topic. Did they use to date? Is it a sore subject? Subin ponders. Instead of leaving his thoughts to ruminate, once again, he asks:  
  
“Were they a couple?”  
  
“What? No. No, they were not and are not a couple.”  
  
“Hm,” Subin grunts. “Will they be?”  
  
“Wh- Why are you asking all of these questions?” Sejun laughs sheepishly. He seems more flustered than he ought to, considering that Subin isn’t asking about his personal life.  
  
Subin narrows his eyes suspiciously, “Why are you deflecting so much? You realize you’re just making me more interested, right?”  
  
“Well don’t be,” The elder replies curtly, “I mean- look. That’s the truth - what I told you, I mean. They’re not together - no matter how unbearable they act.” His face scrunches into an expression of vague displeasure. It looks like he’s dissatisfied with something, but he doesn’t specify what it is. Instead, he shrugs, “Some people are just affectionate.”  
  
“I guess,” Subin shrugs. The back of his mind itches; it whispers to him that he’s not getting the full story. Still, if Sejun doesn’t want to talk, Subin doesn’t see a reason to push it. He can always talk to Chan or Hanse himself - though they probably wouldn’t say anything. It’s not like he thinks they’re secret lovers or anything, but their chemistry is almost palpable. “They just seem to… I dunno. Work well.”  
  
“Yeah, well trust me: you and every other person on the planet agrees. Including Chan-“ Sejun snaps his mouth shut immediately, and panic visibly strikes him. He freezes momentarily, terror-filled eyes locking with Subin’s. When the instant of utter panic finally manages to subside, he drops the hand that had clamped over his mouth and speaks in a very, very quiet voice, “You didn’t just hear that.”  
  
“Is it supposed to be a secret or something?” Subin asks flatly.  
  
Sejun’s shoulders sag, and he heaves a sign, “I- Okay, look it… Is?”  
  
Subin glances out the window, then back at Sejun doubtfully, “Really?”  
  
“Okay, shut up. Trust me, I know, it’s like kind of obvious. Everyone knows- except Hanse. You can’t say a word to him about this, got it?” The patissier leans in, imparting the point intensely again, “Not. A. Word.”  
  
“Why doesn’t Chan just tell him? They’ve known each other for ten years and-“  
  
“Oh my god- I don’t know, okay? God- first Seungsik, now you? What is so interesting about those two this week? Hm? What about me? Nobody asks about my love life.”  
  
“Do you want me to-“  
  
“No- that is not the point. The point is that you cannot do anything to jeopardize whatever thing those two have, okay?”  
  
“Their…. Friendship?”  
  
“Yes. Friendship. Forgot that was a word for a second.”  
  
Subin shakes his head, laughing a little, “Okay, well, don’t worry. Your - well, Chan’s - secret is safe with me. Even if it’s, apparently, not a well-kept one.”  
  
“That’s the spirit.”  
  
“But my secrecy has a price.”  
  
“Oh my god, what-“  
  
“May I please have another biscuit with jam.”  
  
Sejun snorts at that. His tension cracks like glass, and from it seeps his laughter. Obligingly, he goes to the pastry case to grab another biscuit with jam. Soon, another confection is in front of Subin, and all talks of squirrels, childhood memories, and the not-couple are forgotten. Sejun goes off on some tangent about the horrors of freelancing for clients and Subin tells a story about one disastrous trip his family took to Jeju.  
  
Eventually, the not-couple do make their way indoors, but only briefly. Hanse picks up readied deliveries, and Chan just stops in for a quick greeting. Subin decides that, no matter how good the two may be together, he’s perfectly content knowing them just as friends. No matter how much the little devil on his shoulder urges him to, he decides it’s best to stay out of it.  
  
For now.

 

* * *

  
  
“Briing. Briing!”  
  
Seungsik hops up with surprise at the ringing of the Newvoice landline. People actually use it fairly frequently to make orders, but for some reason, the clattering noise still takes him off guard. They have a few wireless ones, but the old one mounted to the kitchen wall is by far the loudest. Today was slow. Really slow. Every minute crawled on for what felt like ten, and the second day in a row of cloud cover dissuaded customers save for the regulars.  
  
Hanse had been sent off with his usual delivery already, leaving the place to Byungchan and Seungsik.  
  
“I’ve got it, boss” Byungchan hollers from the kitchen. The sound of dishes softly clinking and water splashing echoes out into the front. A few minutes pass by quietly. Seungsik hears some low chatter, but nothing of consequence. It doesn’t sound like anyone’s cursing at them or making outrageous demands which are goods signs.  
  
“Hey, Sik?” Byungchan’s head peeks out from the door.  
  
“Yeah?” The baker answers with a quirked eyebrow.  
  
“Can you take this? I’m, uh, confused. It’s Sunrise.”  
  
“Confused? Did you tell them their delivery is on the way already?”  
  
“Yeah, of course, I just- It’s not about that. Can you take it?”  
  
He probably just doesn’t wanna talk on the phone, Seungsik thinks. He doesn’t blame him. Byungchan isn’t much of a phone person, he always texts. Sik defaults to texting, too - who doesn’t? But he can’t help the old-fashioned streak in him that appreciates verbal communication. Text is confusing, voice is sincere. Of course, when it comes to talking to customers, it’s a different ball game.  
  
”Huh?” Seungsik yells back, confused. He reaches for the wireless phone by the cash wrap. “Thank you for calling Newvoice Bakery, how can I help you?” He chirps in his upbeat customer service voice. Byungchan hangs up with a clunking noise before the person on the other end speaks.  
  
“Seungsik,” By voice alone Seungsik recognizes Eunji. She or Chorong are the ones he speaks to the most out of anyone there. Sometimes one of the other MAs like Naeun or Hayoung call, but the Sunrise-Newvoice relationship runs so effortlessly that calling is scarcely necessary. Aside from birthday cakes, Sik can’t remember any other reasons they’d called.  
  
“Hello, Miss Eunji. How are you today?” Seungsik asks. He wracks his brain, wondering if there’s a birthday he’d forgotten about. There’s a calendar somewhere, he swears.  
  
“I’m doing fine, Seungsik! Thanks, and yourself?”  
  
“Alright - in spite of this gloomy weather. What can I do for you today?”  
  
“Well, I need a delivery.”  
  
Seungsik frowns. They ought to know that Hanse is sent out by four. However, they are loyal customers. It’s quiet, and he’s not against the idea of sending Byungchan out. He’d probably appreciate the break in tedium, anyways.  
  
“Did I forget a birthday?” The baker asks.  
  
“No, no, not at all. This is a personal delivery, actually.”  
  
The baker’s head tilts to the side in curiosity, and he leans against the counter, “Personal?” It seems weird that Eunji would call for personal business while she’s still at work.  
  
“Well, it’s to a person’s address. It is on behalf of us here at Sunrise?”  
  
“Oh? What is it?” Seungsik grabs a nearby post-it pad and pen. “When do you need it by?”  
  
“Hm… Good question. I wonder what he’d like. How about… A few small things. Maybe a small variety of petit fours if you have some left. Like three of them. Oh and tea- Hot tea! Lots of it. With honey. And- Oh, one moment,” Low voices filter into the receiver - probably Eunji chatting with someone quickly, “Okay, I’m back. What did I tell you so far?”  
  
“Three petit fours, two large hot teas?”  
  
“Yes, that sounds good. With lemon- the tea, I mean. Do you have anything savory right now?”  
  
“We’re usually low, but I can hold some for you. What about a friand?”  
  
“Hm… I dunno, soup would probably be better. Just stick to the sweets.”  
  
“Do you want me to pick soup up? The place across the street-“  
  
“Oh my gosh, no! That is not your job. I just, um- Sorry. Scattered.”  
  
“That’s okay. Take your time. May I ask what, uh, the occasion is?”  
  
“Well, one our coworkers is sick. They’re not feeling very well at all. They don’t really have anyone close by to take care of them, so I figured maybe we could cheer him up a bit!”  
  
“Ah, I see,” Seungsik grins. Leave it to the Sunrise staff to do something so kind and considerate. They’re all so sweet (save for one resident that Seungsik likes to deny exists). “That’s a really nice gesture.”  
  
“I don’t think they like sweets very much, so feel free to throw in some different flavors like matcha - or that tart mango mousse.”  
  
“I’ll keep that in mind. When did you want it delivered?”  
  
“Well…” Eunji hesitates, “Is today unreasonable? I- I apologize for any inconvenience if it is. I understand that Hanse is probably on his way. I suppose tomorrow can work, too. I feel like the sooner, the better.”  
  
“Um, how important is your time frame? If it can wait until seven, I can do it myself!”  
  
“Hm? No, I couldn’t ask you to do that.”  
  
“To do what? My job? What’s the address. If it’s really far, I may have to push it back.”  
  
“Oh, it’ll be no problem, it’s somewhere in the square. Have something to write?”  
  
“Yeah!”  
  
Eunji rattles off the info quickly, adding dozens of “thank you”s and “your the best”s to the mix. The final order is bumped up to four petit fours with his tea, and he has to talk Eunji out of a thirty percent tip. After about two dozen more synonyms for “thank you” are thrown his way, he finally manages to hang up politely with a click.  
  
“What was that about?” Byungchan asks, conveniently stepping out of the door the second the phone call is over.  
  
“Sort of a personal call for the Sunrise. One of their own is sick and they wanted some goodies delivered to cheer ‘em up.”  
  
“Aw,” Byungchan gasps, “That’s so nice.”  
  
“I know!”  
  
“I should go work there,” The part-timer jokes. “Maybe they’d actually show their appreciation. Unlike some people.”  
  
“I do show my appreciation, Byungchan. I just don’t get on my knees and kiss your feet.”  
  
“Yeah, see? No appreciation,” Byungchan shakes his head in disapproval mockingly. “So, what, you gonna call Hanse back here?”  
  
“Nah, I talked to Miss Eunji. I’m gonna do it myself, just after close.”  
  
“Oh?” Byungchan purses his lips in thought, leaning against the kitchen’s door frame, “Well… I can close up if you want.”  
  
“What? Y-you?!” Seungsik’s brows practically raise off of his forehead.  
  
“Why does that shock you?!”  
  
“I dunno, you’re always so eager to go home…”  
  
“You make it sound like I’m a slacker!”  
  
“Well you don’t exactly give a hundred and ten percent all the time,” Seungsik says facetiously.  
  
“Wow, okay, rude. Here I am, offering myself- my soul- and you just stomp on it!”  
  
“You’re not denying it-“  
  
“Stomping! You’re stomping, Seungsik!”  
  
“I-“  
  
“Stomping.”  
  
“Fine, fine, okay I’m-“ Seungsik throws his hands up, “I am done stomping.”  
  
“Well, good,” Byungchan chuckles. After the hum of energy from their banter subsides, he speaks again, “I’m serious, though. I can clean up and stuff. Leave at, like, six-thirty.”  
  
“But what if-“  
  
“No buts.”  
  
“But-“  
  
“Seungsik, I literally just said-“  
  
“Okay, okay. Fine,” Seungsik sighs. “Fine. Okay. But if anything happens-“  
  
“In the half hour of your absence?”  
  
“Do not hesitate to call-“  
  
“Even though you’re across the street.”  
  
“Yes. Yes, exactly. Glad you get it.”  
  
“Thanks for all the faith you have in me, boss,” Byungchan replies sarcastically.  
  
“Okay, well, I’ll set those aside now. She said go for weird flavors. Huh.” Seungsik scratches the back of his head, mulling her request over. It’s unusual, for sure, but it’s for a good cause. He glances inside the pastry case, scanning for his best options.  
  
_I wonder who it is…_ Seungsik thinks absentmindedly.

 

* * *

  
  
“And this is the key for the front door,” Seungsik holds out his bakery key ring to Byungchan.  
  
“Uh-huh,” Byungchan nods, rolling his eyes.  
  
“Sometimes the lock is sort of finicky-“  
  
“Uh-huh.”  
  
“So you just have to mess with it a little.”  
  
“Yeah, and I’ll make sure the kids are in bed by eight.”  
  
“Ha ha, very funny,” Seungsik replies with a roll of his eyes. He glances at the little parcel he’d wrapped: one matcha roll cake, one mango mousse, one spice cake, and one dark chocolate eclair. In his other hand: a to-go cup full of tea and topped with a slice of lemon. The just below boiling heat practically seeps through the sleeve over the cup. “Alright, I’m headed across the street. See ya!”  
  
Byungchan waves a polite goodbye, scrunching his nose at his boss through the window. Seungsik just shakes his head. Weirdo, he thinks. Idly sticking in some headphones, Seungsik starts his very, very short route to the delivery. He tries to recall if any of the people he knows from Sunrise live around the square.  
  
The clouded sky makes it feel way later than it actually is. With a blanket of gray covering the setting sun, everything still feels as gray as yesterday. At the very least there’s not as much grim existentialism dawning on him. That’s a plus.  
  
His trip across the square is a quick one. He just cuts right through, the building is practically a straight shot. Something about it is familiar, but he can’t place it. Well, okay, it’s very familiar - generally speaking. Still, he swears he’d seen or heard something of it recently. But… What?  
  
Oh well, he thinks as he hums a jaunty tune to himself. He ducks into the alley between the buildings and glanced down at his phone again to verify the address.  
  
“Third floor…” Seungsik pouts to himself. He prioritizes the safety of his precious cargo over all else and opts to take a careful trip up the stairs. When he finally reaches the top, he lifts the less hindered hand to rap on the door politely.  
  
“Knock. Knock.”  
  
And there’s nothing.  
  
Seungsik frowns. He does it again.  
  
“Knock. Knock. Knock.”  
  
Still.  
  
Nothing.  
  
“Maybe they’re not home. Or they’re sleeping,” He mutters to himself. Should I call Miss Eunji, then? Will the Healing Center still be open? Or should I try for her personal number? I feel like I should have it but-  
  
“Screeee-“  
  
A soft noise screeches out from the door hinges, cutting off Seungsik’s thoughts. He eyes the door dubiously. Nothing looks off, and it doesn’t seem like anyone showed up at the door. Still, Seungsik doesn’t want to leave without letting the person know that their coworkers had thought of them. He doesn’t like to brag, but he prides himself on cheering people up. It’s one of the things he’s confident he can do with ease. A smile and words of encouragement from the town’s cutest baker could do wonders. Right?  
  
“Okay, I’ll try one more time,” Seungsik whispers to himself. He raises his hand, this time knocking ever so slightly louder.  
  
“Knock. Knock!”  
  
The echoes sound loud in the quiet, sticky evening. Seungsik swallows nervously. He’d promised Eunji this and even stuck his neck out to do it. In spite of his promise of “just one more time”, he raised his hand to the door again.  
  
“For real, last time, let me just…”  
  
“Knock! Knock- screeeeee.”  
  
Seungsik jumps back, eyes wide as the door sluggishly swings open with a squeak. He swallows nervously, looking down at his fist and wondering: was that my fault? No. That definitely wasn’t me. Their door probably wasn’t all the way closed. Or locked… Weird.  
  
Then a very, very terrible idea pops up in his head.  
  
“H-hello?” Seungsik ventures a greeting into the parted crack of the door.  
  
No response. The baker strains his ears, and he’s pretty sure he hears something, but he’s not positive whether it’s actual human activity or his hopeful imagination.  
  
“Hello?” Seungsik asks again. As he steps forward, he can’t help feeling like he’s in a horror movie. Is this the part when the killer jumps out?  
  
In the smallest voice ever, Seungsik squeaks, “Hello- oof!” The Baker clumsily stumbles into the door, and he freezes in terror. It swings wide open in slow motion - at least, it’s slow motion to him. All he can do is watch paralyzed with utter horror as he essentially breaks and enters into someone’s home.  
  
“Thud!” The door hits a doorstop of some sorts with a noise, making Seungsik’s heart drop onto the floor. He scrambles to pick it up, already formulating the most humble, pathetic apologies he can think of. At this point, he’s sure nobody’s home. Surely, someone would have heard the loud noise and come to see the fuss.  
  
His eyes, in an act of utter betrayal, scan the room. It’s a small studio, not entirely unlike his. From the entryway, he can see large windows across the space. They look out onto the square. There’s a small kitchen to the left and what Seungsik assumes to be a restroom to the right. The living area is probably up ahead, just beyond where the little entry area ends.  
  
Wait, stop creeping on random apartments! Oh my god, this is so illegal. He eyes the open kitchen island. It’s little but functional. It’s also notably empty.  
  
I could just… Set this down right there. Maybe leave a note with a huge apology. Without considering the moral implications, he takes a single step in. Then another. And another. And another. And another. When the kitchen island is just barely within reach, Seungsik stretches his arm as far as it will go to place the cup of tea down. It’s still hot, not that it matters since it’ll probably go cold before the resident wakes up. The benevolent B&E seems more and more feasible as Seungsik glosses over it in his mind. He thinks about what to write when everything takes a swift, steep turn south.  
  
“Who are you and why are you in my house!?” It’s a man’s voice. One that’s hoarse yet shrill at the same time. Kind of a feat, in Seungsik’s opinion.  
  
“Uh…” That’s all Seungsik can say. His eyes are wide and his jaw is dropped to the floor. “Uh-“  
  
“Wh-Wh-What’re you doing?” The manic figure lunges toward the kitchen, yanking a knife out of the holder on the nearby counter.  
  
“Oh my god!” Seungsik yells. He blinks rapidly, trying to analyze the situation in hopes of deescalating.  
  
Okay, calm down, Seungsik. Calm down. So you accidentally broke into someone's place. That’s not cool, but just apologize and he’ll be fine. Probably?  
  
“What-“ The slender man puffs. He seems winded. Well, he is sick, Seungsik reminds himself. “What’re you doing?” The resident wipes the bangs that had been sticking to his forehead away and leans against his counter heavily. Even with slightly glassy eyes and a sickly pallor, Seungsik recognizes him.  
  
He recognizes him well.  
  
Way too well.  
  
“Seungwoo?” Seungsik utters dumbly.  
  
Slothfully, the gears in Seungwoo’s head seem to turn until, finally, he reacts. His eyes blow open to the size of dinner plates, and his lips flap open and closed rapidly.  
  
“S-Seungsik?” Seungwoo chokes out. “I-I, uh- I- What’re you- what are you- you-“  
  
“Can you put the knife down?” Seungsik interjects.


	3. Chapter 3

Horror dawns on Seungsik in waves. Prickling heat stings him, practically making him sweat. All the while, his heart sits in his gut, and each excruciating second that passes in silence pulls it further and further down toward the ground.  _ How _ , he wonders,  _ how did my life come to this? I had such a promising future and here I am. Getting a knife waved in my face by some crazed, sexy, sick man.  _

 

At least Seungwoo puts the knife down. After what feels like an eternity, the shocked city boy gingerly places the massive (too clean to be used) chef’s knife on his counter. Seungwoo opens his mouth, and the baker readies himself for one hell of an apology.

 

“What are you doing in my apartment?” Seungwoo huffs hoarsely, crossing his arms in indignation.

 

Oddly enough, Seungsik had never heard that pronunciation of “sorry for waving a knife in your face” before. The baker wrestles with his urge to strangle the other, reminding himself he’s technically on the clock.

 

_ Why? Why him? Why him of all people?! _

 

“Special delivery,” Seungsik says politely. Guilt, nerves, and irritation all stew in his chest, bubbling and broiling achingly. He hopes the look on his face doesn’t communicate any of that.

 

“I didn’t order anything,” Seungwoo replies bluntly. His voice sounds scratchy, reminding Seungsik what Eunji mentioned: he’s sick. While usually that inspires pity in the baker, when faced with an entitled, rude city boy, it just makes him even more bitter.  _ Great, he’s sick. Which means he’s probably gonna be even more of a pain than he normally is.  _ For a moment, he looks back fondly on their fumbled attempts at polite interaction. Oh how those awkward little associations will be missed.

 

“I know. It’s from your work - the girls at Sunrise chipped in for it. They wanted to cheer you up since you’re sick,” Seungsik explains.  _ Please accept it. _

 

“What? Work?” Seungwoo’s face squishes into one of complete puzzlement.

 

“Yes, the- the people from where you do your hours. Sunrise Healing Center. Miss Eunji and the others-“

 

“What about them?” The city boy pinches the bridge of his nose, wincing in what seems to be pain.

 

“They wanted me to deliver you some sweets to cheer you up,” Seungsik says again. He hopes the other doesn’t notice the strain in his tone. 

 

“Why?”

 

“You’re sick, and they wanted to do something nice for you,”  _ Did he come down with a case of deafness? Or stupidity? _

 

“So you broke into my home?”

 

_ You’re just renting this place! You hate it here! Where do you get off calling it home all of a sudden?!  _ “I’m so, so sorry about that, really. I was knocking, and suddenly, it just opened.”

 

“So you just… Walked in?” Seungwoo asks, leaning heavily against his counter.

 

“I- I thought I would just drop the delivery off and leave. Closing the door behind me,” Seungsik concedes that it’s not his finest idea, and he definitely is paying back for his bad choice in dividends. “I apologize sincerely for my lapse in judgment,” Seungsik bows to show his deference.

 

“You’re welcome,” Seungwoo replies.

 

_ What?! _

 

“I- I mean, you’re okay,” He corrects himself quickly. Seungsik stands back up right and frowns. Giving the PT resident a more discerning look, he can see how bad of a shape the other is in. He’s got a sickly flush swathed on top of an unhealthy, pallid appearance to his skin. Dark circles are stamped under his eyes, and his chest bobs up and down heavily with labored breath. For the first time since Seungsik had encountered him, he doesn’t look too hot. Well, he does look very hot - but not in the good way. In the clammy, uncomfortably sweaty kind of way. Obviously, whatever pain he’s in or fever he’s got is warping his thoughts, too.

 

Not that it gives him a pass on being an ungrateful jerk or anything. There are lots of sick people on earth - are they all rude, knife-wielding maniacs? No! Of course, it’s not Seungsik’s place to call him out on that.

 

“Thank you for excusing me,” Seungsik replies courteously. “Um, the parcel has matcha roll cake, chocolate cake, mango mousse and spice cake. I recommend you put them in the fridge. The large cup is hot tea with lemon. It’s still a bit hot, but I think drinking it will help you feel better.”

 

Seungwoo scrunches his nose in the general direction of his delivery. 

 

_ Ungrateful! _ Seungsik yells in his head. He can feel the judgment oozing from the other. No doubt he has some derogatory comment about sweets or health or the town at the tip of his tongue. Still, in spite of looking like he’d smelled something bad, Seungwoo doesn’t say anything to that vain.

 

He says something even worse.

 

“You don’t need to tell me how I should get better.” 

 

The words slice Seungsik like they’d been written on that knife of his and slashed across his heart. He freezes for a second, completely seized up. How does one respond to that? He understands that sometimes being in pain makes people cranky. Not everyone copes well with it. But, really? Lashing out?

 

_ I am going to kill this man, _ Seungsik thinks to himself.  _ I am actually going to kill this man. I am going to make Han Seungwoo the most handsome corpse this town has ever seen. There’ll be articles all over the newspaper about the baker who snapped. That’s it. That’s where my future is headed. My parents will be very disappointed in me. Will the guys visit me in prison?  _

 

“I-I’m sorry if you took it that way,” Seungsik responds, his customer service mask still (barely) in tact. “I didn’t mean it like that. Um, if you’ll just, excuse me-“

 

“Yeah, you should go. Close the door behind you, please,” Seungwoo grumbles.

 

_ You don’t need to tell me twice. Jerk,  _ “Well, if you’ll excuse me. Please have a good night and feel well,” Seungsik bows shallowly in parting. He turns on his heel, ready to bolt down the steps they second he crosses the threshold.

 

Suddenly, a loud, horrendous sounding cough bursts out from behind him. It’s so loud, and it sounds gnarly. Seungsik can practically feel his throat go raw just from hearing it. He winces in sympathy. 

 

“Thud!” “Clang- clang!!” “Clatter!!”

 

Seungsik freezes.

 

_ Don’t go back in.  _ He tells himself.

 

A sharp inhale and muttered curse sounds out behind him.

 

_ Don’t do it, Seungsik. Don’t you dare go back in. Do not go back there. You are not spineless. Do not take all that crap then go back in and check on him! _

 

Another cough sounds out, and Seungsik actually starts internally chanting to himself:

 

_ Don’t go back in, don’t go back in, don’t go back in, don’t go back in, don’t _

 

He goes back in. Nurturing impulse  going into overdrive, Seungsik turns on his heel, slamming the door behind him and practically jumping across the other’s kitchen to join his side.

 

“Are- are you alright?” Seungsik asks. Seungwoo had somehow ended up on the ground. The knife he’d set on the counter had also ended up on the ground. Thankfully, there’s no blood which means that Seungwoo didn’t accidentally stab or cut himself. Silver linings. Still, he’s in bad shape. Up close, he looks even worse. Even his lips are devoid of color, and his eyes look sort of glassy. 

 

He’s alone in town and, even though he refuses to show it, probably a bit scared. Maybe. Plus, nobody likes being in pain. Sik’s certain that he’d be testy, too, if someone had broken into his place when he was sick. Seungsik isn’t sure, but he rolls with it, trying to justify his lack of integrity and backbone. 

 

“Mn…” Seungwoo groans, his face wrinkling with pain, “Ouch.” Is all he says. He takes a minute to actually collect himself beyond that. When he does, he gives a curt, “I’m fine.”

 

“You are definitely not. Here,” Seungsik crouches down, offering his shoulder.

 

“No, I’m-“

 

The baker doesn’t care. He hoists Seungwoo’s arm on top of his shoulder, helping him get up. The other is shaky in spite of how athletic he is - a testament to how bad he is. 

 

“I’m okay, I- I could’ve gotten up,” Seungwoo mumbles. He doesn’t actually do anything to stop the other from helping.

 

“When’s the last time you took medicine?” Seungsik asks as he stumbles over toward Seungwoo’s bed. It’s a short walk - just beyond the little hall - which is good since the raily guy is heavier than he looks. 

 

“Hm?” Seungwoo grunts confusedly. “Um, what time is it?”

 

“Uh, close to seven, probably?” Seungsik lowers himself, gently urging the other onto his bed. Seungwoo plops down clumsily, visibly calculating the time. When the hour seems to finally dawn on him, his eyes widen with shock.

 

“Seven?!” He looks out his window, “Seven at night?!”

 

“Uh… Yeah?” Seungsik steps back, looking out the window himself. Tiny drops of drizzle dot the pane. Another gloomy night.

 

“Hm,” The sick one grunts.

 

“So… Medicine?”

 

“Oh- I haven’t taken any.”

 

Seungsik’s jaw drops, “Wh- Why!?”

 

“I can sleep it off. I’ll probably be fine tomorrow,” Seungwoo shrugs, following back onto his bed with a soft “pwomf” sound.

 

“You- What?”  _ Is this guy seriously in the medical field!? _ “No, you need to take something. Please don’t take offense to this, but you… Don’t look well.”

 

Seungwoo purses his lips, narrowing his eyes at the other, “Meh.”

 

_ Meh?! _ “Wh-What about fluids?”

 

“Hm…”

 

_ Don’t tell me he hasn’t had anything to drink either!  _

 

Seungwoo seems to think for awhile before answering, “Well, I got home close to eight… Or something? I fell asleep, and…”

 

_ And…? What? _

 

“Well, I was woken up when someone broke into my home,” Seungwoo finishes with about.

 

_ He’s been asleep this whole time? And why is he putting this on me?! _

 

“That’s unacceptable,” Seungsik blurts out. If Seungwoo wasn’t one of the most callous, tactless, impolite people Seungsik had ever met, he’d maybe regret it; but, at this point, he doesn’t. Customer service and common decency be damned! Seungsik has had it with this guy!

 

“Huh?” Seungwoo replies. He sounds more confused than angry, which is good.

 

Seungsik cross his arms, brows furrowed sternly, “You can’t expect to get better if you refuse to take care of yourself!”

 

“I’m fine,” Seungwoo insists again, sitting up on his elbows. He then coughs. 

 

“You are not fine,” Seungsik fires back. “Your coughs sound so bad that  _ I _ can feel them.”

 

“I just need to sleep it off.”

 

“Really? How’s that worked for you so far?”

 

“Hey, I am a medical professional-“

 

“Student! You’re a student!”

 

“Wow, okay, sorry. Let me concede to the baker-“

 

“You don’t need to be a brain surgeon to know how to treat a cold,” Seungsik entertains the idea of strangling Seungwoo again. He opts not to. After all, he’d done so well not to up to this point.

 

“It’ll pass regardless of whether or not I bother treating the symptoms. I’ll be fine. I hate side effects. Cold medicine knocks me out,” Seungwoo grumbles.

 

“So you’d rather cough your lungs up?”

 

“Why do you care?”

 

“I-“ That’s a good question, actually. Seungsik wonders: why  _ does _ he care? Why does it matter if this guys is miserable or not? What difference does it make to him? He doesn’t know the answer. Human decency, maybe? Sympathy? The ingrained inclination to make sure everyone is okay at all times? 

 

“Why don’t you care?” Seungsik queries back, hoping it boggles the other’s feverish mind enough to take the spotlight off of him.

 

“I can take the pain.”

 

“Why? Why just- just will yourself to be miserable? You know you’re not gonna get better if you don’t at least have fluids,” Before he can stop himself, Seungsik takes a seat on the edge of Seungwoo’s bed. Without his permission, his body leans forward and his arm extends toward the other’s head. Seungwoo’s eyes widen a bit and his lips part, but nothing comes out. No protest, no self-righteous ranting or angry grumbles. He just watches as Seungsik places the back of his palm against the other’s feverish forehead.

 

It happens so fast, so impulsively. When Seungsik realizes what he’d done, it’s like waking up from a dream.

 

“Y-you definitely have a fever,” He says, hoping the (rather implicit) explanation covers up the awkwardness. Seungwoo blinks rapidly. He doesn’t say anything. The look in his eyes is weird; glazed over and focused somewhere around Seungsik’s face. Heat quickly migrates into Seungsik’s hand. It runs up his wrist all the way to his cheeks, stinging them. He swallows down a lump that had risen without his knowing and withdraws his hand. 

 

“Oh,” Is all Seungwoo answers with.

 

Speaking more insistently, Seungsik repeats his point, “You need fluids. And food.”

 

“I know. I’m a member of- of the medical-“

 

“Profession. Yes, you told me,” Seungsik says, rolling his eyes as he stands up. He glances over to the kitchen. “Here, let me-“

 

“No! Don’t! Don’t help me- I mean, you don’t need to help me. I’ll do it my-“ Seungwoo moves to get up, but a stern look from Seungsik shuts down the effort immediately. 

 

“Let me make up for breaking and entering,” Seungsik offers. He can tell Seungwoo’s prideful and independent. Making it sound like some sort of compensation or compromise will hurt his pride less (probably). The baker nibbles on his lower lip as he awaits the other’s answer. He’s got the itching feeling that the other’s just gonna sleep if he leaves, and the thought of leaving him in his condition makes his heart sink.

 

“F… Fine,” Seungwoo concedes with surprising ease. Probably the sickness, Seungsik figures. “B-but don’t, like, do too much.”

 

“Uh, okay,” Seungsik tries not to chuckle at the weird remark as he heads to the kitchen again. “Where’s your medicine, by the way?”

 

“Um, there’s some acetaminophen out on the counter. I don’t really have anything more potent right now…”

 

“Okay. Have you eaten, by the way?” Seungsik asks as he deposits a couple of pills into his palm. He eyes the fridge, wondering if there’s water in there. 

 

“I slept,” Seungwoo answers frankly.

 

“Hm, okay…” Seungsik scans the kitchen for any sign of food. Or use. Looking around, he manages to catch the sight of the trash can out of the corner of his eye. There’s lots of cup ramen. Lots. It’s pretty shocking considering how cut the guy is. How is he so hunky on a diet like that? Aside from the trash, there’s some basics: honey, coffee, tea, a few spices and utensils. It’s pretty barebones and looks pristine. Not in the “it’s well kept” way but in the “it's never used” way.

 

“Here,” Sik extends the pills and the tea he’d brought toward Seungwoo when he reaches the bedside again. 

 

Seungwoo takes it hesitantly, “Thanks.” He mutters.

 

“Do you have any food here?” Seungsik asks frankly.

 

“Uh… What? Why?”

 

“Why do you think?”

 

“Wh- No, you don't- you don’t need to do that. You don’t have to-“

 

“You seem to have a thing for ramyun,” Seungsik strides back toward the kitchen, ignoring the other. It’s weirdly gratifying to just completely defy someone’s wishes for once. Plus, it’s for a nice cause, which makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

 

“But-“

 

“Something warm down your throat should do you good.”

 

“B-but-“

 

“You need to eat to regain strength,” Seungsik can’t help the teasing lilt that outlines his tone.

 

“Seungsik,” Seungwoo pouts. The tone is so strangely satisfying to hear, the baker giggles to himself. Seungwoo hasn’t called him by his name often, either, which makes it tickle him even more.

 

“Seungwoo,” Seungsik mimics the other jokingly. 

 

“This is… This is too nice.”

 

“I get that a lot,” Seungsik says, shamelessly rifling through the scantly stocked cabinets.

 

“Well…” After a prolonged pause, Seungwoo finishes his thought, “Make enough for you, too.” 

 

With that, he goes quiet, much to Seungsik’s satisfaction. It’s weird. Profoundly weird. He’d essentially invaded someone’s home and is now cooking them dinner. Well, not just someone’s home, Seungwoo’s home. Seungsik isn’t sure if that’s weirder or not. They’re… Acquaintances? Their last meeting had been traumatizing, to say the least. This one hadn’t started out much better, either. Still, they did know one another, and it’s not like they were explicitly unfriendly faces. Were they?

 

In truth, Seungsik doesn’t know at all where he and Seungwoo stand. If they stand anywhere at all. Is he agonizing about it because he wants them to be in some sort of standing? Thoughts storm around in his brain, bumping into one another, mixing, melding, tangling and clashing. Nothing really prevails over the other, and it just ends up twisting Sik’s mind into a knot of uncertainty. The only conclusion he can really come to is one he doesn’t need to think about hard:

 

This is weird.

 

It’s weird, but… It’s not bad.

 

* * *

 

Seungwoo blinks  the blurriness out of his eyes. His apartment gradually comes back into focus, hazy silhouettes sharpening into concrete shapes. The familiar aroma of chicken broth just barely tickles his nostrils. He’s shocked he can even smell it at all with how clogged they are. His ceaseless headache seems to be taking a brief recess from agonizing pain. Instead, a dull pulsing takes its place. It’s ever present, but bearable. Improvement. Unfortunately, the same can’t be said for his throat.

 

It feels like someone had dragged sandpaper across the linings of his air pipe and esophagus. Just swallowing his own spit makes splintering pain erupt down his throat into his chest.

 

“Oh, you woke up,” Seungsik utters softly by his bedside.

 

Oh right, Seungwoo thinks, the baker is here. He’d nearly forgotten. At some point, he’d dozed off. Judging by the steam still floating off of the bowl of ramyun Seungsik holds, he’d not been out for long. The sight is beyond surreal. It’s too idyllic, too fantastical to think that the man he’d (somehow) insulted days prior is at his bedside now, taking care of him.

 

“Wh- What’re you doing?” Seungsik stutters as Seungwoo runs his fingertips across the other’s leg - the closest thing he can touch. With that trial out of the way, Seungwoo concludes that he is, in fact, not dreaming. Hurrah.

 

“Sorry, I thought… Nevermind,” Seungwoo sits upright again. Boiling heat seeps through his pores, roasting him from the inside out. Still, the hot soup looks inviting. The mere insinuation of that broth running down his throat soothes him. “Is that for me?”

 

“No. I’m just holding it here because I thought you’d want a look.”

 

Sarcasm. Cute. Seungwoo almost smiles at that; except, he’s still rather miserable.

 

“Looks good. Can I taste it?” Seungwoo quips back. 

 

Seungsik lets out the tiniest of chuckles, and he extends the bowl and chopsticks toward Seungwoo.

 

“What, you’re not gonna feed me?” The remark slips out before Seungwoo can really think about it. He defends himself by remembering that he is, in act, ill. Very ill. So ill that he’s flirting with the baker. Again.

 

“Wow, you’ve changed your tune a lot from, like, fifteen minutes ago,” Seungsik laughs it off with grace - much to Seungwoo’s relief. He figures the guy probably has to deal with worse flirtation at work anyways. He probably has deflected lots of random people hitting on him in much more uncouth ways.

 

“Well-”  _ Because it’s nice _ , Seungwoo’s brain betrays him, uttering the thought in the back of his mind. “-you did break and enter.” He opts to go with that.

 

It’s better than the truth: that he’s enjoying the other’s company. Maybe it’s the fever or the prolonged isolation from people. He’s not sure; he doesn’t want to be, either. He can’t remember the last time he’d been taken care of like this. That he is certain of. He’d moved out of his parents’ place so many years ago, the days of being taken care of feel light years away. Even under their roof, he’d always been fairly self-sufficient. He’d hold himself up in his room until he felt well enough to come out.

 

So, why did Seungwoo decide he’s okay with someone taking care of him  _ now _ ? With being a burden to someone?

 

His lips downturn at the thought of that: being a burden. He takes the bowl offered to him and tips it to his lips, sipping some of the broth.

 

“You took the pills, right?” Seungsik asks. Seungwoo’s brows knit together as he tries to remember. Did he? He glances at his bedside table. It’s empty, save for a half full to-go cup of tea and a phone. 

 

“I think so,” He replies - it’s the logical response. Where else would they have gone?

 

“Well, for your sake, I hope you did,” Seungsik shrugs it off. The mattress bounces back up when he removes his weight, standing up.

 

_ For my sake? Awww. _ It’s endearing. In a way, Seungsik is a stereotypical baker. Or, well, the stereotype that one wants to believe when they’re a child, anyways. Nurturing, kind, and sweet. Seungwoo doesn’t envision fit young men when he pictures a baker, but he figures: everyone starts somewhere.  _ Pity he didn’t go into the nursing profession, _ he muses,  _ he’d be amazing at it. Probably better than me. No, definitely better than me. I don’t have the patience- _

 

“Um,” Seungsik coughs awkwardly, dragging Seungwoo away from his dizzy headed pondering. The baker looks different, more stiff. It takes a few laggard seconds, but Seungwoo eventually picks up on why he seems so sheepish and awkward. “I should go,” Seungsik announces, confirming the sick man’s claim.

 

“R-right,” Seungwoo replies. He hopes he didn’t sound as pathetic as he thinks he did. Yikes. “Yeah.” He says again with more conviction and less pitiful shakiness.

 

_ But I don’t want him to go. _

 

His brain speaks the thought into his mind before he can really stop it. How embarrassing. Seungwoo’s glad that mind readers don’t exist, because he’d have to endure a lot of humiliation otherwise. In spite of his opposition to the sentiment, he can’t really deny the truth.

 

Maybe, just maybe, he’s a little bit lonely. Not that he would ever admit it out loud. Hell will freeze over before he pours his heart out (to the baker of all people) about feeling isolated and fearing genuine attachment. That’s a package that  _ nobody _ needs to unpack.

 

Resentment toward his emotions aside: it doesn’t change the truth. It doesn’t stop his heart from sinking when he sees the other stuttering out his goodbyes.

 

“Um, so, I- I hope you feel better,” Seungsik says. “If you need anything you can call the bakery. Please rest and- and get better.” He gives a stiff, shallow bow.

 

_ No! Wait! Don’t go, please! You’re the only non-work, non-retail company I’ve had in… Since moving here! _

 

“Thank you,” Is what Seungwoo actually says instead of the pitiful words his brain is screaming.

 

“It’s- it’s the least I could do, really. After all I did- um, I broke in.”

 

_ Exactly! So you should do what I want and stay! I’m bored all the time! And alone! _

 

“Sorry about the knife,” Seungwoo says before taking another sip of broth. Yum. Salty.

 

“Well someone did invade your home,” Seungsik chuckles embarrassedly. “I guess where you live that’s- that’s pretty bad.”

 

“Is it… Not a bad thing here?” Seungwoo quirks an eyebrow. His illness seems to exacerbate his befuddlement twentyfold - like the statement hadn’t been weird enough on its own.

 

“I mean, well, it is! Okay, it’s bad anywhere, but, like, people don’t lock their doors all the time. As a kid I used to let myself into the neighbor’s house.”

 

“Whoa, really?” Seungwoo gasps, actually shocked. “That’s so… Like a movie or something. Or a TV show.”

 

“I mean, I guess? It was just day to day life for me.”

 

“Wow.”

 

Seungsik flushes at the statement - or maybe that’s Seungwoo’s vision tricking him. He likes to think it’s the former. Making people blush is fun. Especially when those people are bakers that are definitely not adorable, that he’s definitely  _ not _ trying to keep around as long as possible.

 

“U-um, sorry. I’ve kept you long enough. You should try eating at least half of that before falling back asleep. And, please, drink some more water.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Seungwoo nods. The other’s words enter his ears and linger there for a minute. When they finally process, he dignifies them with an actual response, “R-right. Thanks. Thank you.”  _ Winning with words per usual, aren’t we? _

 

“Right, well, um. B-bye!” Seungsik waves hastily before almost sprinting across the apartment toward the door. “I’ll definitely close the door behind myself. Don’t worry about seeing me out.”

 

“Um, o-okay,” Don’t leave me, a poor, sick man, alone! “Bye.” Seungwoo frowns. He glances glumly at his bedside table, ready to set down his ramen and fall back to sleep out of dejection. The twinkle of light off of a phone screen stops him. He squints dubiously at the object, leaning toward it slightly. Glancing on the other side of himself, he looks down, met with the sight of his phone at his side.

 

He looks at the bedside table, then to his side, the table, his side, the table, his side, the table-

 

_ That’s not my phone. _

 

Seungwoo gasps. He pushes aside his tea (practically knocking it over) and sets his bowl down with a loud clunking noise. Swiping the phone off the table, he bursts out of his bed, newly invigorated by adrenaline or something. He’s not sure. He just knows that he has a guy’s phone and that guy should get it back.

 

“Wait!” Seungwoo calls hoarsely after Seungsik, who’d just lifted his hand toward the doorknob. “Wait, your- your-“

 

“Whoa, what are you doing up?!” Seungsik turns around, eyes wide. 

 

“Your- Wh-!!” 

 

At one moment, the ground had been beneath Seungwoo’s feet. The next, it’s gone. Flashes of light singe the edges of his vision, and little, vague shapes swim in front of his eyes. He feels… Funny. For a second - just one second - he can register the sensation of falling, the feeling of gravity pulling his limp body toward the ground. He trains his eyes on the ceiling in front of him; it’s a blur. Sounds enter his ears, but he doesn’t really know what they are. Words? The noise of his body hitting the ground? An audible mirage resulting from his clogged sinuses? Seungwoo’s eyes pinch closed, and he braces himself for impact.

 

But… Impact never comes. 

 

Seungwoo blinks his eyes open confusedly. The bleary blob in front of him soon takes form, and his heart seizes up. Electricity shocks his entire body, and all he can do is freeze for a second. Above him, with an arm looped around his back, is a very concerned looking Seungsik. The baker nibbles on his lower lip nervously, scrutinizing Seungwoo for any sort of scratch or bruise.

 

All Seungwoo can do in return is stare. He’s frozen, completely frozen. His lips fall open, just a little, and his brain drifts dangerously far from his head. It’s just like a bad anime, and if he was just a little loopier, Seungwoo’s pretty sure he’d see blooming flowers or cartoon hearts right about now. It’s stupid and sickening and above all else humiliating, but it’s also real. 

 

His eyes find Seungsik’s and they’re trapped like prey in a spider’s web. Every worried word dropping out of the baker’s lips goes heard but not listened to. Everything’s muffled, suppressed by the excruciating, sweltering heat - a combination of his fever and authentic emotions boiling within. The baker’s breath tickles the other’s chin, and he stops chewing on his lip - he looks almost as dazed as Seungwoo feels. The sick student's eyes stay there - on the other’s lips.

 

Seungsik’s lips stop moving, and the dull barrage of sounds that had been echoing in Seungwoo’s ears cease. There’s still the faint sound of rushing, pulsing blood and his heartbeat. The passage of time slows. It’s weird and fuzzy, and Seungwoo isn’t sure if it’s his muddled head warping his perception or just the atmosphere. It’s like someone had hit the pause button on the VHS of a bad drama - it’s that kind of vague, surreal, frozen feeling. He can almost see the static crackling in front of him.

 

“A-are you okay?” Seungsik asks softly, penetrating the weird cocoon of quiet between them. He’s still got an arm firmly fixed around Seungwoo’s waist and doesn’t move to change that.

 

_ I am now. _

 

“U-uh, Yeah,” Seungwoo answers breathlessly. His throat scratches with a ghost of a cough, but he refuses to let it through. He is not about to cough on the baker, not after the man saved him from what could’ve been a nasty fall. 

 

Finally, Seungsik pulls them upright. Seungwoo stumbles slightly, but manages to find his feet. The other unwraps his arm from around his waist, which makes him feel about ten degrees cooler.

 

“What were you doing running around like that?!” The baker scolds softly, folding his arms. 

 

“I, uh, your phone,” Seungwoo dumbly extends the device toward Seungsik. He’s still reeling from whatever  _ that _ was, and his eyes are meandering a little more than he’d like them to.

 

“Wh- Oh my g- Thank you! Crap- I- I’m so sorry. Crap. If- if I wasn’t such an airhead, I could’ve saved you the- the trip. You should be in bed…” Seungsik goes on a rant of sorts. Seungwoo registers noise coming out of the other’s lips, but, once again, he’s not exactly hearing what is being said. He just sees it.

 

He sees pretty, curved lips moving and big brown eyes narrowed subtly in scolding. At some point, Seungsik completely shifts blame to himself. He apologizes a bunch, even bringing up his hand to nibble on a thumbnail sheepishly. His arms are toned nicely. More than “nicely” - they’re actually fairly impressive. 

 

_ They might be bigger than mine,  _ Seungwoo thinks _. He must handle a lot of dough. Kneading is probably fairly taxing. Is he rough with those wads of dough? Or gentle?  _ His fever addled mind turns down a path it absolutely, positively should not turn down; suddenly all he can think of is how skilled those hands are and how deft the fingers attached to them must be.

 

“Okay, look, here,” Seungsik extends his arm again, “Are you- are you okay to walk get back to bed? You haven’t eaten today, you’re probably weak…”

 

“I, uh…” Seungwoo looks down at his knees. They feel a bit wobbly, but he’s fairly certain he’s fine walking back to his bed. In truth, he’s not sure if they’re weak because of his cold or the guy next to him. “I dunno.”

 

“Come on,” Seungsik slips his arm around Seungwoo’s shoulders without another word, making Seungwoo’s heart jump into his throat. It almost comes out with a monumental cough, but he grits his teeth and holds it in. 

 

“Ac-Actually, I’m fine,” Seungwoo waves the other away, deciding to save his dignity. He takes a couple of steps before the cough that he’d been holding back for way too long burst out of his throat. He hunches over, his hands clenching and face scrunching as the pain rakes at his throat and chest.

 

“Okay, no, you are not fine,” Seungsik strides over to take the student’s side. He lends a hand by grabbing Seungwoo’s elbow, gently guiding him back over to the bed. The entire world shifts and shuffles with every step Seungwoo takes, and he admits that, okay, maybe he is not as fine as he thinks he is. “Here,” Seungsik says, leaning down to let the other onto the bed.

 

Seungwoo clumsily sits down, letting the world right itself before he thinks too hard about anything else. 

 

“Thank you,” He says again. Fire licks at the surface of his skin, hotness lapping up at his cheeks and chest. Breathing is hard - way harder than a necessary bodily function should be - and Seungsik’s nearness exerts a sort of pressure that’s not making it any easier. 

 

“You should really eat that,” Seungsik nods toward the ramen.

 

Seungwoo’s nose scrunches by reflex, “I definitely don’t feel hungry.”

 

“You know you need to eat to gain strength.” 

 

“I- I know that, I just… Need to motivate myself.”

 

“Here,” The baker picks up the bowl of ramyun and shoves it into the other’s face, “Motivate.”

 

“Do you think it’s still hot?”

 

“Probably warm at this point. I can microwave it if you want.”

 

“N-No, that’s fine,” Seungwoo shakes his head. There are worse things on this earth than cold ramyun, and the last thing he wants is the other waiting on him hand and foot. Well, alright, so the mental image is sort of nice, but he feels way too guilty to actually enjoy the fantasy fully. Seungsik has already done enough.

 

The student takes the bowl graciously, slurping up the noodles shyly. Even though he doesn’t really have an appetite, once he starts eating he can’t really stop. The ramyun is still warm, thankfully, and he can feel the thick layer of mucus clogging his throat thin out a little with each mouthful of broth he swallows. It’s warm and familiar and comforting, and he feels so, so grateful for it. Now his insides feel just as warm as his outsides, but not necessarily in a feverish way. He wonders if the fever reducer he’d taken is starting to take effect.

 

“You look better already,” Seungsik says. He’d taken a spot against the wall and was leaning on it, watching. A tiny hint of a smile teases at the edge of his lips; whether due to cold-fueled madness or too much medication, Seungwoo feels the urge to see a full-fledged one.

 

“I do? I guess I feel a little better, too,” He looks down at his half finished bowl of ramyun. It’s mostly noodles now; he’d slurped up almost all of the broth. 

 

“If you’re done, I’ll put that in the sink for you. No need to let it clutter your bedside table.”

 

“A-ah. Yeah, I’m done, but-”  _ Why is he being so nice? Doesn’t he hate me or something? Didn’t I offend him? I also  _ did _ pull a knife on him…  _ “-it’s really not-“

 

Seungsik just grabs the bowl without another word and does as he’d promised. When he returns, Seungwoo can’t bear the questions buzzing in his brain anymore. Maybe he’d cling onto a semblance of tact if he wasn’t sick, but he is. He’s sick, and while the meds and the cute caretaker help, his head is still thrumming with faint pain and he can barely breath. The last thing he needs is stupid little thoughts buzzing around in his aching brain like bees.

 

“Why are you so nice?” Seungwoo asks frankly. 

 

The baker blinks, clearly taken a bit by surprise. At the very least, he doesn’t seem offended or ready to storm out. Instead, he takes a moment to digest the inquiry.

 

“What do you mean?” The baker inquires back.

 

“You’re really nice,” Seungwoo elaborates. “I mean, all of this,” He gestures to the tea on his bedside table and toward the kitchen. “You- you didn’t have to do any of it.”

 

Seungsik shrugs, “It was Eunji’s idea.”

 

“You could’ve just left it at the door.”

 

“That’d totally ruin the flavors and melt them.”

 

“What about dinner?” 

 

The baker lets out a prolonged breath before answering that one, “Well, I kinda owed you something for the B and E. Honestly, I’m pretty sure you would’ve passed out if I just left.”

 

“So what?”

 

“You wouldn’t get better that way.”

 

“Why does it matter to you?”

 

“It’s-“ Seungsik hesitates, and Seungwoo watches the other’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. Is he nervous? “It’s called sympathy. You’re obviously super sick. What kind of a person would I be if I just left you like this?”

 

“A normal one?”

 

Seungsik frowns, “I dunno what normal is to you, but to me just leaving someone super sick alone without- without making sure they’re alright  _ isn’t _ normal.”

 

Seungwoo smiles a little bit. It just happens, his lips are pulled up without his conscious knowing.  _ That’s so unbelievably sweet. What the heck? _

 

_ Is this guy for real? _

 

Thinking about the words more, it begs the question: would he himself do the same in his situation? Suddenly, Seungwoo feels a whole lot worse - but not physically. Seungsik so readily jumped in to help him, even with the other trying to shoo him away. Seungwoo can’t say he would do the same, and that feels bad. It’s weird being confronted by goodness like that, he thinks. It’s like a slap to the face or a wake up call.

 

“What kind of a person would I be if I just left you?” - that’s what Seungsik had said. Seungwoo is that kind of human being. If he’s dismissed, he leaves. He doesn’t question it. What does that say about him? No wonder Seungsik carries some sort of disdain. Sensitivities aside, how could someone like that ever relate to a person like Seungwoo who, well, isn’t sympathetic to start with. If someone isn’t trusted, Seungwoo isn’t super inclined to stick his neck out for them.

 

Seungwoo wants to praise him. The words at the forefront of his mind are something along the lines of, “if everyone had your idea of normal, the world would be a better place”. But that’s way too humiliating. Instead, he goes for something a little less nauseating.

 

“I’m grateful for your ‘normal’ then,” Seungwoo says meekly. 

 

“Stop thanking me. This is bare minimum. I’d do it for anyone.”

 

“Well, so much for feeling special,” Seungwoo pouts jokingly. It’s not like he’d  _ wanted _ to feel special or anything. “If this is bare minimum, how extreme are you normally?”

 

“Oh,” Seungsik chuckles, and he shows a glimmer of that beautiful smile. “I have the bedside manner of a nurse, Mr. ‘Medical Professional’.”

 

“Yeah?” It pulls a little laugh out of the sick Seungwoo.

 

“You’d be leaning back on a fort of fluffed pillows right now.”

 

“A fort. Sounds very tactical.”

 

“Super tactical, and like I’d let you get away with just having one medicine. I usually shove half a pharmacy down my friends’ throats when they’re sick. And I bring them a whole lot more sweets… But I know you don’t like them.”

 

_ His friends, huh?  _

 

_ Lucky them. _

 

“Half a pharmacy?”

 

“Well, different medicines do different stuff! You should know that, you’re the expert, right?”

 

“Yeah, which is why the idea scares me.”

 

“Hm,” Seungsik quirks an eyebrow in interest, “Funny. I figured an esteemed member of the medical profession like yourself wouldn’t be afraid of over the counter medication.”

 

“I’m not big on pills - which you probably figure by now.”

 

“Huh. Why is that?” Seungsik asks. It’s not accusatory or anything, just a genuine question. 

 

“I’m a therapist- well, gonna be. Therapy is… Kinda different. I- I dunno,”  _ Why am I telling him this? _ “It doesn't matter.”

 

“How’s therapy different?” Seungsik presses. “Like, I dunno, I don’t think much about this stuff, and… Sorry- Can I be blunt with you?” Seungwoo almost wants to tell him no, but he knows he doesn’t hesitate to be blunt. Ever. Might as well extend the courtesy to the other. He has a feeling Seungsik’s version of “blunt” is hardly very cutting.

 

“Go ahead,” Seungwoo offers.

 

“W-well,” Seungwoo can tell the other is struggling with speaking his mind. He’s probably so used to being the nice baker. How often does he really say what he’s thinking? “You don’t really seem the type. Not that I mean that in, like, a bad way.”

 

Seungwoo chuckles (it scratches his throat a bit, making him cough), “I actually get that a lot. What makes you say that?”

 

Seungsik shrugs, “I dunno you, uh-“ He’s clearly searching for a non-offensive way to put it. “You’re pretty blunt, for one.”

 

“Doctors and caregivers shouldn’t sugarcoat stuff,” Seungwoo replies with a shrug.

 

“Honestly, you don’t give me the impression that you like people much.”

 

“You don’t have to like someone to help them get better. I mean, it helps maybe, but there’s always patients that drive you crazy or are mean. It’s just like customers, right?”

 

Seungsik gives Seungwoo a weird look, and for a second, the PT student feels weirdly called out. Like he’s one of those customers. Then he wonders: is he?

 

“You’re right,” Seungsik responds with a nod.

 

“And I am genuinely passionate about health.” (Another cough scratches his throat after he makes the statement in some sort of divine irony.)

 

“I definitely get that. I guess it’s the whole… Bedside manner thing that doesn’t really connect in my head,” The baker admits. It’s pretty much the same thing Seungwoo always hears. At this point he’s fairly certain it’s his resting face or something. People always seem so surprised that he’s going into physical therapy of all things.

 

“Well, first of all, I’m not doing anything by anyone’s bedside,” Seungwoo says. “Secondly, I do really like to see people work and improve their health. That’s what’s great about therapy. It’s- it’s always given in conjunction with medicine, but… It’s nice to see how the body can fix itself and improve  itself with time. To- to see progress be made, to see confidence in the patient… 

 

“Like- so many people just wanna take a pill or get a surgery. They don’t wanna deal with the pain. They just wanna be just fixed. Like- like that-“ Seungwoo snaps, “-I dunno, I just… I don’t believe in that. Therapy’s about helping someone work through that pain and grow from it. It’s a process, not a quick fix. I… I like that,” Seungwoo finishes his impromptu rant, and he feels like he needs to take a minute. That took a lot of breath - breath he can’t exactly get easily through his nose right now. He scoots back on his bed, leaning against his pillows. “Sorry, I, um, rambled.”

 

“That’s okay,” Seungsik replies. “It’s cool- how much you like what you do, I mean. I kinda get it. Like- you don’t need to be rainbows and sunshine to do that kind of work, right? It probably helps to be blunt and to the point - like you are.”

 

“Yeah, exactly,” Seungwoo’s smile grows, “That’s a good way to put it.” He feels something stir in his chest at the compliment. It’s not a scraping ache or pain - it’s something different. He stuffs it down, throwing out a question of his own to distract himself from the plethora of physical and emotional sensations assaulting him. “What about you?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“Why do you bake?”

 

“You mean my lifelong commitment to carbs and sugar? Oh- and fat.”

 

And there it is - their excruciatingly painful encounter at Huh Gak’s, hung out in the air. Luckily, Seungsik doesn’t seem to mad about it. He pokes at the idea, but there’s a little smirk on his lips and some whimsy in his tone. Still, it doesn’t stop the fresh wave of embarrassment stinging Seungwoo’s cheeks and ears.

 

“I… Really said that, didn’t I.”

 

“Mhm, you did.”

 

“It sounds way stupider when someone else says it to you.”

 

“Imagine how I felt.”

 

Seungwoo laughs, and it hurts. His throat and lungs really should not be subjected to such rough treatment, but he can’t help it. 

 

“I’m- I’m sorry,” Usually, he wouldn’t care enough to apologize, but with how kind Seungsik had been (and how stupid he feels for even saying what he did), he feels like the other’s owed an apology.

 

“Me too,” The baker snarks. 

 

_ For someone who seems so sweet, he definitely has a savage streak. I wonder if he lets it out often. _

 

“I’m serious, though. What made you choose baking? Here of all places?” Seungwoo asks.

 

“It’s a family business, actually.”

 

“Oh. Oh wow, your parents own the place?”

 

“Started with my grandparents, actually. I’ve been around the bakery since I was little.”

 

“Wow. So, do you really like it or do you just do it because of your family?” Seungwoo clamps his mouth shut.  _ That’s so inappropriate!  _ He chides himself. Unfortunately, it’s too late to take back his words, and he prays that the other isn’t offended. Maybe he can blame the fever cooking his brain like it’s a hunk of meat for his craziness.

 

“Nah. Sometimes I wondered that too, but,” He shrugs, “I really love it.”

 

“What do you love about it?” Seungwoo asks, tilting his head in curiosity.

 

“You know it’s nice to… To make something with your own hands that you can be proud of, but, mostly… Well, it’s not as profound as your thing,” Seungsik chuckles sheepishly.

 

“Why do you say that?”

 

“I just,” Seungsik’s eyes dart to the floor and he nibbles on his lower lip. Seungwoo doesn’t get why it’s making the baker so shy, but he’s grateful for the image. It’s cute. Really, really cute. For the briefest of seconds, the student’s sick brain gets sidetracked. He wonders what else makes Seungsik flustered. How he can make Seungsik flustered. “I like to see people smile,” The baker finishes his thought with a shrug.

 

“Yeah?” Seungwoo asks.

 

“Yeah,” Seungsik nods. “Yeah, I just- It boils down to that. People don’t eat baked goods because it’s healthy - obviously. They do it because they’re celebrating or to maybe treat themselves or because they enjoy it. It’s, like, good for the soul.”

 

_ It fits _ , Seungwoo thinks.  _ It definitely fits.  _

 

“That’s cool.”

 

“Yeah, super cool. I’m the coolest.”

 

“You’re the coolest person I know. Baking. Breaking and entering…”

 

“Aren’t I the only person you know?”

 

“Ouch!” Seungwoo laughs, “Come on, I’m sick. Can’t you go easy on me?”

 

“What happened to ‘I can take it’?” Seungsik chuckles.

 

“I lied. Your cutting remarks wound me profoundly,” The student’s proud of stringing together such long words in his condition.

 

“Aw, you _poor_ thing...”

* * *

 

 

“No, no- no!” Hanse wails on the team call. He hears groans echoing out in his wake.

 

“Can you turn your mic down?” Byungchan’s sigh muffles like static.

 

“It’s okay guys,” Sejun adds, “I didn’t need to hear anything anyways.”

 

“Hanse, I have to say your ‘throw my body at four people’ tactic is… Interesting,” Subin laughs.

 

“INTeresting,” Sejun repeats.

 

“In his defense,” Byungchan jumps in, “You dying twice within the first five minutes didn’t help.”

 

“I got ganged up on!” Sejun retorts, “I was being bullied.”

 

“I saw that second death,” Hanse doesn’t hesitate to throw the other under the bus, I’m pretty sure that you chased too far-“

 

“I had him!”

 

“Until two other people showed up,” Subin joins in the taunting.

 

“Until two other people showed up, yes! Shows how scary I am! It took three of them to take me down. Three!”

 

Subin snorts,“And then it took three of them to take down your first turret-“

 

“And half of the second,” Hanse adds.

 

“Okay, okay- Oh, crap. Are they winning?” Sejun gasps.

 

“I dunno,” Hanse squints at his black and white death screen, “Oh, yeah. They totally are.”

 

“Well men,” Byungchan chimes in, “I think we ought to do the noble, honorable thing.”

 

With that proclamation, an alert pops up on Hanse’s screen, bearing a single word:

 

“Surrender?”

 

Hanse chuckles, happily clicking the affirmative “yes” option. The rest of the team follows suit, and soon the word “DEFEAT” is emblazoned across the screen. In spite of their lackluster performance as a team, the group is still in decent spirits. It’s not like it’d been a crushing defeat - they all knew they were going down less than ten minutes in. 

 

Byungchan’s the first to talk again after they all closed out of the lost game, “Man… When I imagine getting spanked, it’s usually way more fun than that.”

 

“Wow, I was thinking the  _ same thing _ ,” Subin adds crassly, static slightly fizzling on the voice channel.

 

“Now I know who the Ms among us are,” Sejun laughs.

 

“Really?” Hanse snarks, “I thought Byungchan was pretty obvious.”

 

Subin’s voice crops up, confused, “A what?” Soon, conversation devolves into a fuzzy cacophony across the team channel, and everyone’s icons light up with the activity.

 

“An M.” “What can I say, I like it rough.” “A what?” “Wait, no- no don’t tell him.” “Tell me what?” “I know you like it rough, baby.” “Ew.” “Wait- who said that, Byung or Bin?” “Why don’t I have a pet name?” “Shut up.” “Who’s got a pet name?” “I think we’re all Ms.” “Nobody told me what an M is yet.” “Oh, sweet summer child.” “There’s no way you don’t actually know. How old are you?” 

 

The din chatters on until the group collectively realizes that they’re getting nowhere. In the end, the only notable accomplishment of the night is educating Subin as to what an “M” is (turns out, he knew it by a different name). Sejun is the first to drop off - he works in the morning, so it makes sense. Byungchan is next; he gets pulled aside by his mom for help with something.

 

That leaves Subin and Hanse, the last troopers. Hanse’s heart sinks a little. He loves himself some Subin, but with the rate things are going, he’ll be spending the majority of the night alone. Usually that means weird movie binges or falling into a Wikipedia hole. Hanse really doesn’t want to fall into a Wikipedia hole.

 

“You have another round in you?” Hanse asks Subin, the last man standing.

 

“Hm…” Subin lets the question linger for a minute, “I dunno.”

 

“Eh, it’s no problem. The last loss was kind of-“

 

“Pathetic?” 

 

“Wow, a bit harsh, okay- but it’s apt.”

 

“It wounded my fragile self-esteem, and it’ll take at least the next few hours to rebuild all that I’ve lost.”

 

Hanse chuckles, “Okay, weirdo.” He tries not to sound too dejected.

 

“Maybe Chan’ll play with you, though,” Subin suddenly says, as if he’d sensed Hanse’s gloominess through the internet.

 

“Huh?” Hanse’s brows furrow as he scrolls his friends list to see if Chan’s on. He’s not, unfortunately. “I dunno if he’s getting on tonight.”

 

“No? Does he not like playing a lot? I don’t see him on often, either…”

 

“He’s pretty hyper, he likes to do physical stuff or else he gets antsy. Like a border collie.”

 

“Cute,” Subin’s chuckle distorts slightly with the stuttering connection. 

 

“It is until he’s waking you up at seven in the morning to go watch the sunrise when you went to bed at, like, five.”

 

“Whoa,” Subin replies, awed. “He, uh, does that often?”

 

“More than you’d think…” Hanse trails off. He can’t help remembering a few of those rambunctious wake up calls. The last one had happened maybe a year ago - last summer. Chan had literally slapped him awake, just barely holding back his ear to ear smile. He looked all excited and like he  _ definitely _ hadn’t slept a wink. The two stumbled toward the clearing in the woods and watched the sky change colors before promptly returning and passing out. Hanse’s lips upturn ever so slightly at the memory, and he wonders:  _ why did I ever say yes to doing that?! _

 

“Sounds cool, though.”

 

“It  _ is _ really pretty.”

 

“Is it that different from sunset, though?”

 

Hanse actually thinks about that. It shouldn’t be, really. It’s just like an undoing of the sunset from the evening before, but something about it feels different. He shrugs - even though he can’t be seen.

 

“Eh. It’s kinda cool. Sounds more impressive than saying you watched the sunset.”

 

“You have a point.”

 

“Though it’s less impressive when you’re up for the sunrise every other day.”

 

“And you took that point away,” Subin laughs. When his chuckling dies down, the younger says something blunt - something that catches Hanse off guard:

 

“That’s kind of romantic, isn’t it?”

 

Hanse rolls his eyes, an annoyed huff of air leaving his nostrils and fuzzing the WiFi, “Oh god- not you, too-“

 

“Huh?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, Chan and I are married. Ha ha-“

 

“Wh- I mean, uh- No, that’s not what I meant- I- uh- I mean like Chan.”

 

Hanse’s nose scrunches with his confusion, “What about Chan?”

 

“I dunno, I just- I guess it’s surprising is all.”

 

“What’s surprising?” Hanse asks, completely confused at this point. 

 

“Y’know that Chan is such a… Such a romantic person. Not that- not that you two are- that you’re- I mean people can be romantic without it being… In a relationship, you know what I mean?”

 

Hanse digests the inquiry a bit.  _ Chan? Romantic? _ He practically bursts out laughing at the insinuation at first. Then, he thinks about it. Really thinks about it.  _ Why would Subin say that?  _ He wonders. 

 

_ Sure _ , he concedes,  _ watching the sunset is sort of a romantic thing. So what? Is he some bleeding heart romantic for liking a pretty sky?  _ His mind wanders, musing about other little things Chan likes. He likes sneakers. That’s not very romantic. Neither is his love of anime.

 

“I get what you mean, but I promise you Chan’s not like that. Trust me, I’ve known him for, like, ever.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Well, since he moved here. So basically forever,” Hanse shrugs again despite not being seen - it’s reflex. In the meantime he closes out of the game they’d been playing and opens up a web browser.  _ Looks like it’s gonna be a Wikipedia night after all. How many clicks until I get Hitler?  _

 

“And he never struck you as the romantic type?”

 

“Wh- No. No he hasn’t. Unless you consider painstakingly polishing every sneaker he owns romantic.”

 

“See? He’s passionate.”

 

“Yeah,” Hanse rolls his eyes. He decides to start his game of “how many clicks to Hitler”. It’s a game of peak boredom that involves finding a random page online and seeing how many linked pages it takes to get to Hitler’s. He lands on the page of the Australian kiwi as his starting point. “Well Mr. Passionate was never any help to me when  _ I _ was trying to be romantic.”

 

“Wait- you?”

 

“Yeah. Like- I had a girlfriend in high school, but any time I asked him for ideas he was blank. Blanco. Nada.”

 

“Ideas?” Subin’s voice shakes a bit, like he’s trying to hold back a laugh. “For what?”

 

“Wh- Y’know. Dates. And stuff.”

 

“And  _ stuff _ ?”

 

Hanse can just hear the eyebrow waggle in Subin’s voice, and he feels embarrassment flurry in his chest, “Oh my god- Jung Subin I thought you were a good boy!”

 

“I am! Though apparently you aren’t-“

 

“Oh my god- No. It- it definitely wasn’t like that.”

 

“Wasn’t like what?”

 

“Look Bomi and I- She’s awesome, but, like, she’s a good girl, okay?”

 

“What are you implying, Hanse?”

 

“Okay, I’m not being a jerk- like, you know what I mean-“

 

“Do I?”

 

“Like- I don’t hate on anyone, but Bomi and I- she was- you know-“

 

“Okay- while I usually relish in the type of visceral discomfort we’re both feeling right now, I’m gonna stop you right there.”

 

“Good call, good call,” Hanse’s shoulders sag from the relief. “Yeah, and before you ask, no Chan didn’t date anyone. So, yeah. Not really a romantic.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Really,” Hanse idly clicks on a link on the kiwi wiki page to get to Australia.  _ Damn _ , he thinks.  _ This is almost too easy.  _ “I basically had to throw him at people for, like, years before he even gave away his v-card.”

 

Subin chuckles, “You threw him at people?”

 

“What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t? There was this point in high school where he got really high strung- trust me, he needed to get laid.”

 

“If he needed it so bad, why’d he need you to sell him?”

 

“Dude- I don’t know. Really, I don’t. He’s obviously a charming enough guy. Sorta shy, I guess- not like I’ve seen him act shy in, like… Ever.”

 

“Did it ever occur to you that he was, like, saving himself or something?”

 

“For marriage?” Hanse purses his lips. He finds “World War II” on the Australia page - he might as well go straight to Hitler’s page. Three clicks for that one. On the sidebar, he clicks “random” which takes him to the page of some eucalyptus plant.

 

“I dunno- maybe at least a relationship or something. You’d know better than me.”

 

“I think the most special people in Chan’s life are, like, his mom and, uh, me. Basically, he’d be waiting forever if I didn’t step in.”

 

“Well thank god for you, then,” Subin replies with snark in his voice.

 

“Finally, some appreciation!” Hanse chuckles. “Yeah, I think the most romantic thing Chan has ever done is give me the fried chicken he can’t finish himself.”

 

“Doesn’t he dance?”

 

Hanse pauses for a second, “Uh, yeah. How’d you know that?” It’s not something Chan talks about. To, like, anyone. He’s actually good at it. Really damn good - but he’s so shy. Hanse’s pretty sure he’s the only person that Chan had ever let go to his recitals. Sure, he’d break out some moves occasionally when he was plastered at parties; but, Hanse’s fairly certain he could count how many times it’d happened on one hand.

 

“I dunno, you said something. Or Sejun,” Subin shrugs (or at least Hanse visualizes him shrugging). 

 

“Huh,” Hanse just grunts. He finds a link to “Italy” on the eucalyptus page. Just four clicks. Again. “I  _ guess  _ you can say that’s romantic.”

 

“What does he dance like, anyways? Is he good?”

 

“He’s more than good,” Hanse doesn’t bother going to the “World War II” link on Italy, clicking random again and ending up on some basketball player’s page. “He’s beautiful.”

 

“Whoa- really?”

 

“Yeah,” Hanse scrolls around. Seeing the words “United States” linked, he clicks, pursing his lips idly.

 

“What’s his style?”

 

“He does contemporary with, like, hip-hop. I think he’s trained in jazz, too?”

 

“Dang, so he’s like, legit.”

 

“Yup. Does studio practice and everything. He’s like a whole other person on stage.”

 

“Please tell me you have video evidence.”

 

Hanse smirks, chuckling, “Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. It’s gonna cost you, though.”

 

“Hm, how steep is the price?”

 

“You know what, because you’re new, I’ll float you one for free. I’ll even send you a solo- so you don’t have to pick out which one is him.”

 

“Solo? Dang- he gets those?”

 

“I told you - a whole other person. You wouldn’t believe the way his body can move,” Hanse enjoys dangling his somewhat-forbidden knowledge in front of Subin too much.

 

“Really?”

 

“Yeah, he’s all graceful and stuff. It’s wild.” The part-timer knows that America’s wiki page is gonna lead way too easily to the second World War (and consequently, Hitler). The wiki games charms diminish rapidly, but he glances at the “Random” link on the sidebar anyways. 

 

“He watches the sunrise and dances beautifully… Sounds pretty romantic-”

 

“Shut up- wait, why are you asking all of this stuff about Chan anyways?”

 

“He’s never here,” The slightest hint of mopiness leaks into Subin’s tone. “I feel like I know nothing about him even though I see him all the time.”

 

“Yeah, he’s been sort of spacy lately. Just- Don’t tell him I’m sending you a video of him dancing,” Hanse grabs his phone off of his desk and starts scrolling through his videos. It’s been awhile since he’d last been to one of Chan’s exhibition things, and he has to scroll for awhile. Finally, he manages to find one that’s not pathetically shaky and mostly in focus.

 

“Oh. Secret,” Subin giggles impishly.

 

“I’m serious! He’ll never let me near one of those things again!”

 

“If it’s that big of a violation, you don’t have to-”

 

“Oh, god, no. You’ve totally gotta see it! I show, like, everyone. I just don’t tell him,” Hanse laughs.

 

“Wow. Some friend you are! I’ll make sure to remember that when I wanna tell you a secret.”

 

“What? How else is everyone supposed to know how amazing he is?! If he’d stop being so humble and shy I wouldn’t have to send out his private videos behind his back.”

 

“ _ Private videos. _ ”

 

“Oh my god-”

 

“You’re sending the dance one, too - right?”

 

“Yes-”

 

“Or do I have to pay extra for that?”

 

“Well, with your allowance, you can afford it.”

 

“How many more private ones do you have anyways?”

 

“Oh, tons,” Hanse plays along.

 

“Keep a lot of ‘em?” The younger one snarks.

 

“Just in case.”

 

“In case of what?”

 

“Emergency?”

 

“Hanse, a cold, lonely night doesn’t constitute an emergen-”

 

“Do you wanna see him dance or not?”

 

Subin huffs, “Okay, fine- jeez. I mean, no judgment from me-”

 

“I’m sending it now!” Hanse shouts into his mic.

 

“Ow!” Subin wails (much to the other’s satisfaction). “Okay, okay. Meanie. Hey- I gotta go, thanks for the blackmail!”

 

“Wh- Don’t blackmail Chan with that! It’s not even a bad thing-”

 

“Who said I wanted to blackmail Chan?”

 

“What?”

 

“I have the receipts. You said if he found out you’d sent it-”

 

“You wouldn’t.”

 

“Don’t dare cross me, peasant,” Subin’s cackling makes the line distort into a staticy din in Hanse’s ears.

 

“You wouldn’t dare-”

  
“Click.”

 

“You did not just hang up- you hung up!” Hanse gasps.  _ He’s so adorable, but so evil! _ Hanse thinks, vacating the voice channel with a click. Jung Subin is young, but he’s crafty. Very, very crafty. Of course, Hanse doesn’t actually think for a second Subin’s gonna use his receipts for evil. Probably.

 

“Ding!” Hanse’s phone screen wakes up, lit up with a new notification.

 

[Binbin]: thanks for the video loser

[Binbin]: 😈😈

 

Hanse rolls his eyes. It’s been awhile since he’d seen Chan dance, so he presses play on the video in their chat window to see again. 

 

The video fills his phone screen, and the tinny sound of echoing piano notes sounds out from the speaker. There’s only a single spotlight, and it falls on none other than Heo Chan. His tall, slender form is bathed in the bluish light - it sort of resembles moonlight. Chan’s dressed simply: black pants and shoes, a flowy white shirt and choker. Hanse distinctly remembers Chan saying he’d felt like he was gonna actually choke from how the thing constricted his neck. The shirt looks almost ghostly as it billows around his long, slender body. 

 

_ It really is surreal _ , Hanse muses. His movements are sharp, yet fluid. Through his body, Chan communicates so many things during the brief duration of his solo: desperation, wistfulness, even regret. It looks so effortless, the way he tells the woeful song’s story with his body. All too soon, the spell is broken. The music changes, and soon people join him on stage. That’s where the video ends, cut promptly as the music shifts into something more uptempo. 

 

“Stupid Chan,” Hanse mutters to himself. He backs out of his message with Subin to see if Chan had ever gotten back to him since that afternoon. He hadn’t. Weird. “Text me back, idiot.” He stares at the screen as if doing so is gonna will the other to do as he says.

 

It doesn’t work, and so Hanse is left by his lonesome. And it’s not even nine o’clock at night. 

 

_ I’m gonna be so bored, _ just as he slumps back in his chair, a little spark lights up in his brain. It catches something - a recent memory flashing in his mind. Sitting upright, Hanse nibbles on his lower lip, willing the gears in his brain to turn and work faster. It had been an instant, the tiniest little lapse of normality in the wake of their drunken time at the quarry. Chan had said something weird.

 

“Subin is- is cute.” - That’s what Chan had said as they’d walked up his street on that humid night. Hanse glazed over it at the time, but even buzzed he’d known that something was off. His tone shifted, it’d changed. It didn’t make sense at the time, and now another puzzle piece presents itself: why is Subin so interested in Chan?

 

Does he  _ really  _ have innocent intentions of getting to know Chan better? Hanse’s brows knit together as he pores over the details, more and more little memories and thoughts bubbling up to the top of his head.  _ Subin and innocent? Those two don’t mix. And what’s with his insistence that Chan is romantic? Where did that come from?! I’ve known him for years - if he was romantic, I’d know it. _

 

Subin’s words replay in Hanse’s head: “he watches the sunrise and dances beautifully - sounds pretty romantic”.  _ He didn’t even know about either of those things until I told him - what the heck made him think Chan was romantic in the first place?! Unless… Has Subin seen a side of him that I haven’t? _

 

_ Is that even possible? _

 

Hanse feels something in his chest dip at the thought. It’s not like he expects to know every intimate detail of Chan’s life, but after all they’d been through he thought he was close. 

 

Still, they’d been seeing Subin come into Newvoice day after day - how had he never said anything before? Even if they didn’t know one another, surely Chan would’ve at least  _ mentioned  _ Subin being cute. All they ever talked about was how rich and quiet he was. 

 

“No,” Hanse shakes his head and whispers to himself without intending to. He glances down at his phone, still open to the (left on read) chat with Chan. “You can’t lie to me,” He talks to the chat like it’ll somehow astral project into Chan’s mind. 

 

It’s true, Chan had never been much of a liar. His tell is fairly obvious: he shuts down and isolates himself. Hanse’s fairly certain he can tell when Chan’s lying before he even does it. Of course, lying requires some sort of communication. Maybe Chan’s just omitting information for the time being. The two had never really been big on romantic talk. They had to be  _ really  _ drunk to get to that level. Like he’d told Subin: Chan’s basically mute when relationships come up anyways. It always involved a lot of shrugging and “I don’t know”s; the occasional “well, how would you treat me?” would come up - because according to Chan a significant other should also be a friend.

 

_ Maybe feelings came up suddenly _ , Hanse starts stroking his chin. It’s weak, but that makes the most sense. They say love is unpredictable, and few things are less foreseeable than Chan dating anyone in the next decade. The guy’s  _ picky _ . Subin’s weirdness supports the theory that maybe he’s interested, too. Except, something’s still off. Hanse feels like he’d managed to jam a puzzle piece into a slot that it can fit into but isn’t meant to. 

 

“Oh my god- what am I doing?!” Hanse groans, bringing his head to his desk with a dull thud. He bangs it against the wooden surface a few more times - just to knock some sense back in there.

 

_ Yup _ , He tells himself, _ I’m overthinking again. _ Physically shaking his head to banish the thoughts, Hanse’s eyes shoot back to his computer screen. He clicks on the “Random Article” link on the wiki’s sidebar and tries to unknot his stomach as he waits for it to load. Finally, a page pops up. In bold serif lettering, the title of the article reads:

 

“Oblivious (Kalafina song)”

 

Hanse scans the page, eyebrow nudging up as he reads the brief synopsis, “Japanese band, huh?” He clicks onto the band’s page, heaving a sigh.

 

Shaking his head, he purses his lips in displeasure, “Sometimes, this is way too easy.”

 

* * *

“Is that something that gets excused around here?” Seungwoo chuckles nasally.  

 

Seungsik shakes his head with a sigh, “No, no it’s not. My first period teacher didn’t buy it. When I showed her the picture I took, she scolded me for having my phone!”

 

The sickly city boy’s shoulders shake as he snorts. He winces seconds later, body seizing up slightly from the pain that no doubt followed the action.

 

“Ouch- Oh, don’t make me laugh. It hurts,” Seungwoo pleads with a sniffle.

 

“Sorry, sorry,” Seungsik throws his hands up. He’d just finished recounting the thrilling tale of how he’d been late to school one day because chickens were blocking the street. As he’d told the other, his teachers had been less than sympathetic. Apparently, they don’t have problems like that in more suburban areas. Shocking. “You look better,” He observes nonchalantly. 

 

“Yeah, everything seems to be kicking in,” Seungwoo concurs with a nod. He leans back against his pillows, stretching out languidly. The collar of his baggy shirt rides down a bit, making the neckline gape. He’s so well defined, probably even moreso because of his cold, and Seungsik can’t help himself. His eye starts to wander; it starts at the other’s Adam’s apple and travels across his collarbone.

 

_ Oh my god- Kang Seungsik what is wrong with you!?  _ Heat prickles his cheeks and tints the tops of his ears. He tears his eyes away from the other.

 

“I’m glad,” Seungsik shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

 

“H-hey?” Seungwoo’s voice is tiny all of a sudden.

 

“Yeah?” The baker replies attentively.

 

“U-um, you’ve been standing there for awhile.”

 

“O-oh, right, I should, uh-“

 

“You can pull up the chair from the desk if you want,” Seungwoo finally finishes his thought.

 

Seungsik blinks confusedly at first. Even more blistering heat swaths across his cheeks. When he glances over at Seungwoo, he sees nothing but sincerity in those reddened eyes.

 

“I, um-“  _ You should just go. Let him rest. He’s just being nice, right? _ Except, Seungsik realizes something: Seungwoo isn’t nice. Ever. “Sure,” He blurts out.  _ Sure!?  _ For some reason, Seungsik swears he sees relief on the city boy’s face. 

 

“O-Oh, can you- I mean- would you please get my laptop while you’re over there, too?” Seungwoo asks timidly.  _ Okay, maybe his fever is roasting his brain _ . “If- if it’s not too much trouble?”  _ Or maybe he’s been possessed. _

 

“It’s no trouble,” Seungsik assures the other, rolling the chair over with one hand and holding the laptop with the other. He carefully hands the computer over to Seungwoo before perching onto the wheeled chair by the bed. Just sitting down makes a flurry of anxiousness balloon in his chest.  _ Is this real life? _ He wonders. “Wait, sorry- do you need anything else?”

 

“Oh my god- No. You’ve done plenty,” Seungwoo replies. He shimmies a bit so he can sit upright and opens up his laptop. 

 

“Yeah, but-“

 

“But nothing,” Seungwoo cuts the other off. He clicks around his laptop a bit, pulling up something or the other. Seungsik rocks awkwardly in his seat, searching for some excuse to leave when the other pipes up all of a sudden, “Oh, I haven’t seen this one yet.”

 

The baker quirks an eyebrow, glancing at the other’s screen. He’s got a streaming site open with the latest installment of a spy movie series. 

 

“Huh,” Seungsik mutters, “Me neither.”

 

“Let’s watch it,” Seungwoo says decisively. Seungsik’s mouth opens to protest, but the video’s loading before he can utter a word.

 

_ He said let’s - clearly he doesn’t want me to leave… Right? _

 

——-

 

Seungwoo wakes up with a start. He gasps, jumping slightly. Another dull wave of pain cascades down his body, and he seizes up for an instant, letting the ill sensation wash over. When the brunt of the discomfort passes, he blearily assesses his surroundings. His laptop sits askew on top of his lap, a still frame of the movie’s credits filling the screen.

 

_ How long was I out? _ He wonders. Wiping some of the grog from his eyes, he paws clumsily toward his bedside table. That’s when he realizes: he’s not alone. For a second, Seungwoo forgets about the past few hours and freezes. He panics, worry squeezing his heart.

 

A strange man is sleeping in his desk chair. 

 

_ Wait, that’s not a stranger. That’s Seungsik.  _

 

Seungwoo blinks confusedly, leaning in. There sits Seungsik, fast asleep. His head is resting in his hand, and his mouth is just ever so slightly ajar. Dark eyelashes fan out prettily against his cheekbone as his chest bobs up and down with steady breaths.

 

_ I should… Wake him.  _ Seungwoo thinks. Unfortunately, all the thinking in the world doesn’t translate into action. Instead he just stares. (In a completely non-creepy way of course!)

 

The thought of waking Seungsik makes Seungwoo feel guilty. The baker looks so peaceful, and he definitely has an early morning. Suddenly it strikes Seungwoo how weird he’s being. There is essentially a stranger sleeping in his home - a stranger that had technically broken in. He should be  _ livid _ . 

 

But he’s not.

 

Instead he’s fawning over some sickeningly sweet fantasy that his melting brain is making. His fuzzy mind keeps distorting the image in front of him as something endearing, something butterfly-inducing. Concrete thoughts never stay in his head for long. Instead, he keeps trailing off on tangents, thinking about how nice the baker’s arms are or how pretty the curve of his lips is. It’s not just his looks that distract Seungwoo, though. More than anything, it’s his nature.

 

Seungwoo shuts his laptop, setting it aside so he can snuggle more comfortably in his sheets. As his head sinks into his pillow, his thoughts roam again .  _ What is it he said again? _

 

“You’d be leaning back on a fort of fluffed pillows right now.” 

 

_ So he’s the doting type. _ Warmth runs down Seungwoo’s body as he imagines it: being cared for like that. It’d be so nice. Being tucked in by strong arms, hearing that low, lilting voice impart hushed reassurances. What if he fed me? The sickeningly domestic scene plays out in Seungwoo’s head like a bad drama: 

 

Him: swaddled in a plush duvet, propped up on half a dozen pillows with a comely flush across his cheeks. Seungsik: a look of doting concern painted across his sweet features, strong arms extending a spoon full of broth toward him. He’d say something like “Careful, it’s hot,” as steam dances up from the spoon. When Seungwoo’s all done, Seungsik would tuck him in extra tight - and even though he knows he shouldn’t be too close, he’d insist on leaning in and planting a gentle-

 

_ Oh god- how bad is my fever?! _

 

“Uh, Seungsik?” Seungwoo mutters. He hacks and coughs a bit, dislodging some more of the mucus in his throat. The baker doesn’t stir. “S-Seungsik?” The student tries again meekly. 

 

_ I need to get this guy out of here.  _ Now _. Before I have any more weird thoughts. _

 

He sits up again, leaning ever so slightly,“Seung… Seungsik-“ Hesitantly, he reaches out, hoping to give him the most gently jostling awake possible.

 

“Hm?” The baker groans. Seungwoo flinches, jumping back and swiftly withdrawing his hand. Seungsik stretches slightly, face scrunching as he returns back to the land of the living. His hair is just ever so slightly tousled, and the glasses on his face sit askew. “Wh- Oh my god!” Seungsik gasps when his brain catches up with his body. Eyes wide with horror, he starts sputtering out a litany of apologies. “I’m- I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to- I- Was I out long? I’m really- really sorry, I um-“

 

“It’s okay,” Seungwoo mutters. Apparently, the words go unheard, and Seungsik jumps up, face redder than a strawberry. 

 

“Where, um, my- my phone, where is-“

 

“It’s okay,” Seungwoo repeats himself.

 

“I, uh, I-“ Seungsik’s hands scatter to fix his glasses and adjust his clothes. Pink tints the top of his ears, and his eyes skitter around panickedly. 

 

Seungwoo tries getting through to him again,“N0- no it’s fine, really I-“ He coughs before finishing the thought, but the sound accomplishes the intended goal of silencing the other. The baker pauses, turning to acknowledge the sick student once more. 

 

More composedly, he starts over, “Sorry for, um, dozing. I didn’t mean to.” He frowns.

 

“I know you didn’t,” Seungwoo reassures him.  _ Don’t worry, it was cute _ . He doesn’t say that, of course.

 

“How are you feeling?”

 

_ I’m melting but I’m not sure if it’s due to this fever or how cute you are. _ “Not great but… Better,” The PT student nods. “You, um, you helped a lot, so. Thank you.”

 

Seungsik’s shoulders finally sag, releasing some of the tension that’d visibly wound up in his body, “I’m glad to hear.” His eyebrows raise when he turns to the window behind him, “Oh- It’s dark out.” He frowns.

 

“Y-yeah, I guess so,” There goes my sleep cycle, Seungwoo pouts internally.

 

“I’ll let you get more rest,” Seungsik says with a tone of finality. Now it’s Seungwoo’s turn to frown. Though he’d love to cook up some other excuse for keeping the baker around, he knows that his luck has already been pushed far enough. Short of begging there’s little he thinks he could do to keep the other around, and even with a terrible cold, Seungwoo’s not about to beg anyone to do anything. He’s got his pride to uphold! 

 

“Thanks,” Seungwoo replies, giving a courteous, close-lipped smile. “Don’t forget your phone this time,” He adds.

 

“Yeah- No, I- I’ve got it this time,” Seungsik fishes it out of his pocket to corroborate the claim. “I’ll, um- I’ll see myself out, then.”

 

“R-right, yeah. Yeah,” Seungwoo nods. 

 

Then: there’s quiet. Another freeze frame in the budget film Seungwoo’s life has turned into. It’s painfully apparent that neither knows precisely what to say in that moment. “Goodbye” seems practical - yet neither one utters it. Instead, they just stand there, eyes dancing between each other’s pupils and the floor. Awkwardness fills the room like a heavy fog, and it agonizingly needles at Seungwoo more and more with each passing second. 

 

Maybe he’ll stay, Seungwoo thinks pathetically to himself. If I asked him, would he stay a bit more? He allows him that one pitiful line of thought - that brief indulgence in the unwelcome yet not entirely unpleasant fluttering in his chest.

 

“U-um, good night,” Seungsik finally breaks the spell.

 

“Uh, you as well,” Seungwoo responds. He presses his lips together as he watches the other’s broad shouldered frame shuffle toward the doorway. “Wait- Seungsik!” Crap- Why did I do that?!

 

Seungsik freezes, glancing over his shoulder with raised eyebrows.

 

Seungwoo blurts out:

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

The baker’s jaw drops, but nothing comes out at first. No words. Not even a sound. When he seems to collect his thoughts, he asks:

 

“For what?” He asks hushedly. His entire aura seems to soften, like he’s letting a wall down - or, at the very least, peeking out from behind it.

 

Seungwoo grips at his sheets nervously as he trudges on, “For…” After nibbling on his lip in contemplation, he finally finds words. They may not be elaborate or very explicit, but they’re true. That’s as much as he can ask of his baked brain. Taking a deep breath, he answers:

 

“For everything.”

 

Seungsik blinks once. Then twice. Maybe three times - not that Seungwoo’s really counting. Seungwoo can tell he’s processing the words; the baker’s eyes are fixed on the floor as he seems to think of a response.

 

“Good night, Seungwoo,” Is what he eventually comes up with. No “it’s okay” or “I forgive you” - just “good night”. Seungwoo knows he’d be lying to say it doesn’t disappoint him, but he accepts it. It’s not like Seungsik is accusing him of being insincere or something. It’s not like Seungwoo has a choice.

 

“Good night, Seungsik,” Seungwoo murmurs. With that, the baker leaves. Finally, actually leaves.

 

Seungwoo hears the door shut behind the other, and slowly the cloud of tension that had filled the room begins to dissipate. For a little while, the sick student half thinks that the other will return having forgotten something or left something unsaid.

 

He doesn’t.

 

Minutes sluggishly pass in silence, turning into a few, then ten and soon fifteen. When reality genuinely dawns on Seungwoo, he stretches out onto his bed again, pulling his duvet up to his shoulders and nestling himself as comfortably into his pillow as he can.

 

_ That was… Weird.  _ He thinks to himself. The whole night ended up being weird. His eyes shut, and dizzying visions swim through his mind. Soon, they fade, the last thing he sees being the look of worry painted on the baker’s face.

 

* * *

 

Seungsik huffs when he shuts the door to his apartment. He heaves a deep sigh, practically sinking to the ground on the spot. Instead, he wrings his hand over his face a few times. It’s late. Way too late for him to be getting home. It’s closer to ten at night than it is nine, and he’d spent his precious off time with that jerk. The jerk who looks down his nose at him, the one who says rude things about the town that’s graciously welcomed him.

 

The jerk that Seungsik still can’t stop thinking about.

 

“Get-“ Seungsik (lightly) bangs his head against the nearest wall. “Out-“ He does it again. “Of. My. Head!” Each word is punctuated by the light thud of his forehead against his wall. Ouch.

 

They say love hurts, but Seungsik had never so thoroughly felt that until now. What “they” neglect to mention is that it doesn’t matter how far away you see the pain coming. It hurts all the same. It’s like watching a train wreck in slow motion; all Seungsik can do is sit by while his heart careens into the other, spilling ill-founded feelings of adoration everywhere. 

 

_ What would a guy like that want with me anyways? _ The baker wonders. 

 

_ Wait- What am I thinking?!  _ Seungsik grimaces.  _ His head is sore from all the wall banging. Seungwoo is not some nice, sweet, philanthropic guy. He’s a jerk! A very, very attractive jerk, but a jerk nonetheless!  _

 

Stubbornly, Seungsik sits himself down at his desk chair. He’s tired, but he needs something to get his mind off of that jerk. Luckily, Do Hanse is online and very bored. The two quickly lapse into a too-long session of intense gaming, and Seungsik almost forgets about that jerk - with his stupid beautiful face and weird, fever driven apology.

 

Almost.

**Author's Note:**

> // tysm for reading! none of of the person(s) or brand(s) in this piece belong to me~
> 
> also a little note, this story is based off of the acoustic Stay With Me off of the from.VICTON album


End file.
